THAT PERFECT SHAPE | July 16th 2008

RIEDEL

Why do beloved brands have to expand past their initial ground-breaking product? Bruce Palling ponders Timberland boots and Riedel glasses, and recounts some stemware experiences of his own ...

Special to MORE INTELLIGENT LIFE

Do you recall the pleasure of discovering a new brand that actually delivers something that is perceptively superior to an existing one? It usually doesn't involve an entirely new approach or radical departure from conventional wisdom--one feels the product in question is effortlessly superior to whatever the previous standard was. This happened to me when I purchased my first pair of Timberland boots in the late Seventies from a cubbyhole of a shop in High Street Kensington. They looked just like other boots but were amazing--robust, comfortable and durable--something I confirmed while I tramped along the Thai-Cambodia border attempting to assist refugees fleeing from the Khmer Rouge.

These days, Timberland has established itself as a clothing, beachwear, and accessories brand, turning out scores of designer boots, shoes, slip-ons and deck shoes. Nowadays they are fully up to speed about their carbon footprint and recently acquired a company with a range of accessories for skateboarders. It is still a good brand, but there is that niggling feeling that Timberland is merely a fashion statement rather than a mould-breaking take on the work boot for the leisured classes.

Like Timberland, Riedel, the pioneer wine glass makers, knocked me sideways when I first tasted Bordeaux from their specially designed glass. It was state-of-the-art and effective; if you ever doubted the curve of a wine glass could completely alter the wine's taste, you only had to drink an identical wine from two differently designed wine glasses. I can assure you, a Bordeaux tasted from a Burgundy glass was completely different. Various grape varieties taste differently according to the glass used because they affect specific parts of the palate, so that if the wine is "thrown" towards a particular portion of the roof of the mouth, different taste sensations arise.

Riedel glassware turn out their traditional quality products that are more or less still at the summit for their type. However, they now feel impelled to diversify in the desire to "expand the brand", perhaps aiming to cover all bases while consumers still have a jangle in their spare-change pocket. Or perhaps, having enjoyed enormous growth off the back of a single, simple and inspired idea in the 1950's, Riedel, like Timberland, is experiencing a midlife crisis of sorts.

To celebrate their fiftieth anniversary, Riedel have launched the "Sommeliers Black Tie Range", ultra-expensive glasses from £50 to £80 a throw. Doubtless there will be a market for these glasses in the tuxedo-wearing classes. The stems are black so when you eye up a filled glass on your banqueting table, it appears that the Lafleur '47 (or is it Kangarouge NV?) goes all the way down to the base. To help those hard of seeing, the white wine version merely has a black base and a clear stem. And that's not all--Riedel now have something "to wow your guests" called Nachtmann Bossa Nova plates, which "show off your culinary presentation skills". Help! Get me out of here! All I ever wanted was a sturdy pair of boots and a perfect glass for my Bordeaux--not some sort of lifestyle nightmare.

It might be time to consider the impact of appropriate glasses for various wines. We should start with Champagne as virtually no one except celebrants at Mongolian National day in Ulam Bator uses those old saucer-shaped ones (Champagne coupes, they're called). Little-known fact: the shape was allegedly based on Marie-Antoinette's breast.

The slender flute is the now the preferred Champagne shape, although I have yet to hear anyone claim it is based on any part of the anatomy of Louis XVI. The flute is superior because it manages to contain the bubbles of the Champagne--and provided you are drinking something not mass-produced by the lifestyle people, you can actually smell its nose.

Flying in the face of this advice, the most memorable Champagne I ever tasted was Cristal Rosé served in a plastic cup on a Eurostar as it pulled out of Paris. We had just spent the night at Chateau de Saran in Epernay drinking no end of different vintages of Dom Perignon, including their rare Rosé. One of our party thought that while those wines were perfectly acceptable, they didn't compare to the charms of Cristal Rosé. I still have no idea how he managed to slip away from the queue at the Gare du Nord and return triumphant, clutching a handful of plastic cups. Even with the handicap of the drinking vessel, it managed to transcend anything we had drunk in the past day or two. I have no doubt it would have been even more ethereal in a flute.

The same would apply to my first experience of Latour '59, served up in a stone mug on a stem. I drank it with a passionate socialist friend (later a Labour Government Minister) who believed that despite his privileged upbringing, it was only just that one of the greatest wines of the century should be served at his table in earthenware. I watched in horror as he expounded on some now obscure point of the class struggle between slurps from his mug.

At the reverse end of the spectrum, I have drunk several bottles of Cheval Blanc '83 with a hedge fund owner who insists on serving this glorious wine in eighteenth century crystal, which for all I know could have been Marie-Antoinette's. It still managed to strut its stuff--no easy task when the crystal is as thick as a bottle top. However, even he was dumbstruck when I arrived with a series of tasting glasses and thought it would be amusing to compare them. The quality leap was discernable but sadly I was not affluent enough to gift them to him, so it will be back to the ancien régime.

Riedel are not the only option when it comes to fine wine; at present I prefer drinking fine Bordeaux from very thin tasting glasses, half the dimensions of the classic Riedel variety. However, Riedel do deserve huge credit for introducing the concept of wine-specific glasses, ranging from Bordeaux and Burgundies to Chianti and red Rhônes.

I recently went to a dinner in honour of Georg Riedel in London, where he had vast displays of his glassware, including the dreaded Black Tie ones. It was tad gratuitous to put up a Riedel glass of Grand-Puy-Lacoste '01 against a plastic cup with the same wine. No prizes for which tasted more interesting and revealed more of its character. Still, he is a craftsman and deserves honour.

I only wish that the human race wasn't genetically impelled to always expand and hunt for new markets. It is nothing very new, historically. When the Emperor Augustus died, his will instructed his successor not to expand the boundaries of the Empire, but before too many centuries the legions became restless and began appointing their own Emperors, such was their shame at not being allowed to conquer and pillage. I don't have any fears about Riedel going down this fatal route if they stopped spreading themselves into the wider philistine world of the consumer. On the contrary, I won't be too surprised when I hear of the Alcopops Riedel glass or the eco-friendly slingback Timberland.

(Bruce Palling spent 30 years as a foreign correspondent in Asia and Africa, including a posting as the first South Asia correspondent of The Independent. He lives now in London, where he writes about food, wine and travel, and is working on a history of regime change. His last story for More Intelligent Life was "Become a Master of Wine".)