The wines of Alsace are singular. For the most part, this is literal; you can pick up most bottles and immediately identify the one grape varietal contained within. It’s right there on the bottle, easily identifiable from Riesling to Klevener. There are of course, some notable exceptions like Edelzwicker, or “noble blend,” which again labels its contents in line with the highbrow wine laws so pervasive in France. Far more interesting to us are those who intentionally blend entire vineyards’ worth of grapes, no matter what the contents. Many producers blend varietals for their sparkling wine production, but much more interesting are those producers like Marcel Deiss. Instead of following the traditional method of sorting different varietals into separate wines, the winemaker is blending entire Grand Cru vineyards together. His “Complantation” is a blend of all allowable Alsatian varietals, even the one red grape from all of the domaine’s holdings, but the same is true for the Grand Cru holdings as well, like Zellenberg. Is this bold move just to spite the law of the land with an artistic accent, or is there a deeper motive behind the chicanery? Precise science, or artistic freedom?

This question may symbolize the crux of the background of the historically disputed region, straddling the strategic territorial ridge between France and Germany and influenced by both. The region is nothing other than Alsatian, rooted deeply in its own particular conditions, drawing culture from both sides of the border. Although it seems pejorative, Alsace's wine history is the result of being the servant of two masters, changing wine laws every time the region changed hands. Both German and French culture are staunchly evident in this corner of France: in food, language and wine. Marcel Deiss, who founded the rule-breaking Domaine which bears his name, was described by his contemporaries as a “foudeur de merde,” which sums up how they felt about blending wines.

In the early 1900s, Alsace’s reputation was suffering. Wine production was up, mainly from quick-growing, high-producing grapes like Sylvaner, which drove overall blend quality down. This dip in quality led to an edict that maintained all wines must be varietally specific, with the exception of those labelled as blends. The trend toward quality dove all serious producers to begin separating their harvests. When time came to replant vineyards, many converted into monolithic plots of Riesling and Pinot Blanc, losing the biodiversity contained within the careful nuances of the vineyards of Alsace. It may come as a surprise, however, that Alsace is one of the most geologically diverse winegrowing regions in France, and that Riesling expresses itself in wildly different ways in vineyards a stone’s throw apart. The differences here can be exemplified best through Domaine Zind-Humbrecht’s single-terroir blends—open a bottle of Roche Roulée next to Roche Granitique next to Roche Calcaire any day of the week and see how the bottles speak so differently based on their soil types. The advantage here is that Olivier Humbrecht still separates grapes based on varietal, so you can experience not only the Riesling speaking through these plots, but also Gewurztraminer and Pinot Blanc, depending on the vintage.

Although it is one of the most northerly reaches of France, Alsace has significantly more sunny days than any other part of the country. This will often create wines that, especially in the warming climate, are large. The southern-facing slopes and those planted to heat-retaining soils will often be grandiose and able to age for years. These vintages also create ideal conditions for sweet wines: most common in Alsace is “Vendange Tardive” or late-harvest wines, where the grapes experience ideal enough vineyard conditions to accumulate scads of sugar, unfermentable by ordinary yeast alone. This residual sugar adds another dimension to the fruit-laden profiles of grapes like Riesling and Gewurztraminer. Christophe Lindenlaub, one of the relative newcomers to the scene, has even intersected his completely natural wine philosophy with a sweet wine. The weirdly delicious “Ma Petite Chipie” is a skin-macerated late harvest Gewurztraminer that has all the sweetness, texture and flavor of a lightly caramelized rosehip. Made without added sulfur and only with naturally occurring yeast, this oddball liquid dessert would pair well with Turkish delight and pistachio ice cream. Lindenlaub’s other wines, while just as strange, definitely veer towards the acid-oriented side of Alsace. “En Equilibre,” a lightly macerated Riesling, is prominent on yuzu, and his “En Liberte,” a skin-macerated Gewurtraminer sparkler, was recently described to me as “mezcal that is sparkling wine.”

The red wines of Alsace are the one true oddball in that there aren’t many rules to break. With twelve white grapes permitted by law to one red, is it no surprise that Riesling, like much of Germany, attracts most of the attention and most of the plantings. Pinot Noir, being the only permitted red grape, limits the options available for blending. Perhaps a few rogue producers are blending in white varietals, but none that are willing to admit it. Marcel Deiss’ red is consistently pretty. It is floral, racy, alive and full of tangy cherry-driven fruit. Valentin Zusslin’s example is much more broad-shouldered, with very earthy cassis-skin doing most of the driving for the fruit, with some deep, honest rootsy quality to back it up. Rare, delicious, and typical of the region, Alsace rouge is more affordable than the equivalent Burgundian Pinot Noir and arguably more delicious.

No matter what the flavor profile or style of wine appeals to you, Alsace can deliver. From traditionally produced mono-varietal wines to the wild field blends becoming more popular and available, the world of Alsatian wine is poised to become a hotbed of exciting wines and philosophies. It is already happening.