It’s burčák season in Prague! Try it, with caution

by Jeffrey White on

This weekend I was in Prague, happy to be reminded, thanks to signs hung in pretty much every bar and cafe window, that it’s once again bur?ák season!

Huh? you say.

From now into November, most drinking holes outside of seedy herna, or gambling, bars will be offering bur?ák, which is barely fermented wine.

If Beaujolais is the French answer to early wine, bur?ák — pronounced, more or less, bore-chuck — is the Czechs’, though you really can’t compare the two. Some describe bur?ák as having a taste much like orange juice. The white version is cloudy in the glass (to me it looks like pear juice), and while I don’t get a lot of orange taste, it definitely reminds one of fruit. It’s sweet, somewhat refreshing, and very drinkable.

That’s why you’ve got to be careful: It’s very easy to overdue it on a drink that taste good and doesn’t appear to be that alcoholic (hey, it’s only partially fermented, right?)

Don’t let bur?ák’s sweet taste and benign appearance fool you. Glasses are still around 5-8 percent alcohol (though fully fermented wine usually hovers around 11-12 percent). And bur?ák is one of those odd drinks (actually, I can’t think of another one like it) that actually gets more alcoholic as it sits on the table. It is fermenting right in front of your eyes. So the pitcher that you gamely order up is going to be more alcoholic by the time you reach the bottom.

But that’s only one reason to be careful. Really, it is not a good idea to have so much of this stuff, uh, fermenting in your stomach. Now, people will tell you that it is a myth that bur?ák continues fermenting in the blood stream. Maybe it is scientifically impossible. But I know what my stomach feels like a few hours after 4-5 good-size glasses of the stuff. It’s unsettled, to put it mildly.

I don’t want to imply that bur?ák is some kind of unique drink; many European countries mark the early grape harvest with their own versions. In Germany, where I live, feder weisen, which is quite similar to bur?ák, is currently in most establishments. But bur?ák does have a unique taste, and if nothing else it’s a reminder of how, in Europe at least, we mark the change in seasons less by meteorological and arboreal observation as by the food and drink that begins showing up in the places where we like to eat and drink.

The stuff is here one day, and gone before you know it.

Galley Gossip: More stuff for the airline museum…

by Heather Poole on

“What are you doing with all that?” asked The Husband, holding a huge bag of seafood as he stared (very rudely) into my grocery cart.

“It’s for work,” I said, and then I pushed the cart down the aisle – away from him, away from his hands, hands that, if given the chance, would take what was in my cart out of my cart.

“Work?” I heard him say behind me.

“Yeah work. I’m going to write about it!” I exclaimed, thankful to have an excuse, a very good excuse – that was actually true! – as I continued pushing the cart to the check out stand.

Following quickly behind me, he asked, “Just how many bottles do you need?”

As many as I could get in the cart. But I didn’t tell him that. What I told him was we needed all the bottles of wine for our guests that were in town visiting. What I didn’t tell him was that there was no way the guests that were in town visiting were going to touch my wine. That’s right, I said it, my wine!

If you’re a flight attendant, or an aviation enthusiast, you probably own a lot of airline crap. Like me. Of course we don’t refer to it as crap. Oh no, these are our treasures. Precious treasures. That belong in a museum. Like the one I USED to have in my guest room closet. I say USED to have because The Husband recently boxed up my airline museum and drove the contents that are now inside a giant grey tub to a storage facility nearby. Of course he did this while I was away on a trip.

Hey, that’s fine with me. Now I’ve got more room for more crap. I mean treasures! Like AUS Boarding Pass 2006 Shiraz, a very cool bottle of wine I found at Costco.

There I was at Costco, leaning against the wine, impatiently waiting for The Husband to hurry up and pick out a few crab and shrimp from the crab and shrimp guy so we could FINALLY leave and start dinner, when I actually turned around and focused on what I happened to be leaning on. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was like god had sent them to me. And oh my god they were so cute! I had to have one. Or two. Or three. In case I needed to…umm…you know…share…or something. As I filled the cart, I couldn’t help but think what a great flight attendant gift the bottles of wine would make, so I put a few more bottles into the cart. That’s when The Husband appeared and I took off.

The name of the wine, you ask? I’m not sure. On one side of the bottle, the side that looks like a boarding card, it says Boarding Pass. On the other side of the bottle, the side that looks like an information card (the one located in the seat back in front of you) it says Grateful Palate Airwines. And around the top of the bottle, the thing that looks like a baggage claim ticket, it says AUS Boarding Pass 2006 Shiraz. Like I said, it’s not exactly clear. What is clear is it’s the most adorable bottle of wine I’ve ever seen. And it tastes pretty good, too.

WAIT!

Before you jump into the car to go and look for your own cute bottle of wine to add to your own museum, because I know you will, which is good, because you really should…do you think you could pick me up another bottle. Ya know…in case I lose a bottle…or something.

Thanks.

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Dispatch from China: The time I got drunk off tiger wine (part 1 of 2)

by Jerry Guo on

On a nondescript street near downtown Harbin, the Double Mountain Local Products Wholesale Center offers the usual array of kitsch items stripped from the wilderness: deer antlers, pelts and dried starfish. A request for tiger wine, a traditional brew of corpse-steeped cheap liquor with dozens of reputed medical benefits, raises a stern eyebrow from an employee who informs me that as such concoctions are illegal, they are not available at the store.

But at the mention of American money, a store manager intervenes – $100 would buy two bottles, and true to the employee’s words they are not at the store; they will be delivered via courier. Doubts about the brew’s authenticity are shooed away.

The manager is certain the bottles are the genuine article because, she says, “they came from over at that tiger park”. She is referring to the Hengdaohezi Feline Breeding Center on the outskirts of the city. By most accounts, that tiger farm is an enviable success. Started in 1986 with 8 Siberian tigers, it is now home to 800 of the big cats. Compare that with the estimated 150 Siberian tigers in US zoos. The largest tiger-breeding facility in the world, Hengdaohezi – like its cousin down south at the Wolong Panda Reserve – has learned the art of churning out cubs, 100 this year alone.
And whether or not she is speaking the truth, the manager is highlighting a looming international stand-off between conservationists and the Chinese government.

China banned domestic trade of tiger parts in 1993, but that did not arrest the desire for their use in wine or traditional Chinese medicine. A black market fills the demand and goods can often be traced back to breeding centres. In August 2006, a tiger farm in Guangxi province was caught with 400 vats of wine, each stewing a whole tiger carcass. This past June at the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora (CITES) conference in The Hague, the Netherlands, wildlife officials used DNA evidence to accuse the same farm of serving tiger meat.

In a walk-in fridge at Hengdaohezi – off-limits to tourists and journalists – 200 frozen tiger carcasses lie scattered, waiting to be turned into tiger wine and medicine, according to a breeding consultant for the park at neighbouring Northeast Forestry University. Whether Hengdaohezi benefits tiger conservation is questionable, but one thing is certain – if the government lifts the ban on the tiger trade, places such as Hengdaohezi will profit.

Liu Dan, the park’s chief scientist, didn’t see a problem when I paid him a visit. “We can use dead tigers to save live tigers,” he explains, promising to use profits for the centre’s genetic and reintroduction projects.

With its baffling breeding techniques and plans to open a market in tiger parts, Hengdaohezi hardly seems the safest place for Siberian tigers, but how they would fare in the wild is even more uncertain. So perhaps it is fortunate that the reintroduction campaign is mainly hype for now. Although media reports mention plans to release 600 of the captive tigers (apparently hoping to coincide it with the Beijing Olympics), the center has not yet separated any group for eventual reintroduction, selected any potential release sites, or built specialist training enclosures.

As Liu Dan broods over his nursing mothers, he defends the conservation work of the center, posing the rhetorical question that if they weren’t keeping the tigers around for a greater purpose, wouldn’t they be just another tiger farm? “From breeding to reintroduction is a long process,” Liu Dan says. “The program isn’t mature yet.”

A decision on the tiger trade ban can come at any time, according to Chinese government officials. As of 2006, all tigers have been required to wear a microchip, and some authorities say such tracking abilities combined with a certification process – a system that met with success with China’s ivory, crocodile and ginseng trade – could lead to a win–win situation for everybody. But lifting the ban may be illegal. US wildlife enforcement officers say China would be flaunting an existing international ban on tiger parts – and noncompliance could lead to sanctions.

For now though, the world waits for China’s next move.

Stay tuned for tomorrow’s installment, in which I visit the evil breeding facility and play Dance Dance Revolution with a Siberian tiger.

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Conflict bubbles over Swiss “Champagne”

by Jeremy Kressmann on

The French are a particularly jealous bunch when it comes to the sparkling wine better known as Champagne. As Anna pointed out in this earlier post, European trade laws mandate that only sparkling wine from the French region of the same name can truthfully be labeled as “Champagne.” The French government has taken numerous steps to preserve their ownership of this name, going so far as to restrict the number of French vineyards that can operate within the Champagne region and filing numerous lawsuits against other wines that try to use it.

But lately, French efforts to restrict the Champagne brand name seem to be getting out of hand. As this article reports, the small Swiss town of Champagne, first named in the year 885, is fighting the French government to continue using the city’s name on its local wine. Apparently the city used to sell as many as 110,000 bottles of local wine using the town’s name, a quantity that fell to only 32,000 bottles last year when the Champagne name was removed from the label. That’s quite a difference.

While the whole naming controversy does seem a bit silly, I can understand the rationale. The French have cultivated a world famous brand and have profited handsomely from its popularity. The same is true of any other famous foodstuff, be it vodka from Russia, steaks from Argentina or oranges from Florida. But just how much of the popularity of a famous food brand is hype and how much is substance? Some will argue that nothing beats the “real thing,” but ultimately I think it’s a question that can only be answered by our stomachs. Some might scoff, but maybe a Swiss Champagne is equally as good as a French one? France, it’s time to grab a glass of bubbly and chill out.

Bring on the bubbly: France plans to expand Champagne region

by Anna Brones on

It’s easy to become a wine snob if you’ve ever lived in France. The thing that irks me the most is calling all various kinds of sparkling wine “champagne.” In France, only bottles that are produced in the Champagne region can be graced with the term that has become synonymous with luxury; anything else is just plain old vin pétillant, or sparkling wine.

But in a global society, even a stubborn Frenchman can only stick to his traditions for so long. Last year exports of French champagne bottles hit a record 150.9 million bottles and the growing global demand for champagne is forcing France to expand the region to include another 40 villages; just so the country can produce more bottles classified under the same name.

Wine experts from the Institut national de l’origine et de la qualité (INAO) have been debating on expanding the boundaries of the region for quite some time now. On Thursday a meeting was set to decide which villages should be included in the region, but a final decision — which will need to be made at the national level — will not be reached until 2009.

If I owned a vineyard, I would certainly be crossing my fingers. “If your vines fall on the wrong side of the divide, they will be worth 5,000 euros ($7,800; £3,800) a hectare,” said Gilles Flutet of the INAO, as quoted by the BBC. “On the other side they will be worth 1 million euros.”

It may seem strange to have to expand the physical region instead of just placing a champagne label on other bottles of sparkling wine from around the country, but then again, c’est la France and wine is much more than a drink; it’s a way of life.