Hungry in Berlin

What’s white as a feather, as bubbly as a spritzer, and certainly capable (if consumed copiously) of giving you a hangover of the sticky-sweet cocktail kind? That would be Federweißer, otherwise known as young wine, a seasonal treat that’s tied to the wine harvest in early fall. You’ll find it in cask or bottle at some independent wine shops, as well as at local grocery standbys here in the Hauptstadt such as Extra or Kaiser’s—usually refrigerated and about 1.50 Euro or thereabouts for a 1-liter bottle.

The fun part of Federweißer (and the trick that makes it fizzy) is that it’s wine essentially still in the making. Just like with any normal wine, grapes for Federweißer are picked, crushed and then tossed in a large tank with yeast to ferment. These hungry yeasts eat the grape sugars to produce byproduct No. 1, alcohol—and byproduct No. 2, bubbles. When this very young wine hits about 4 percent alcohol, it can be bottled and sold as Federweißer. Most Federweißer ranges from 4 percent to 9 percent alcohol.

Similar to Hefeweizen, Federweißer looks cloudy in the glass—that’s the yeast that’s been left in the bottle to continue its sugar-eating chores. (And also explains the “weiß” part of the Feder.) This is also why the bottles you’ll find at the store are kept upright and closed with a very loose screw-cap—the gas produced by the active yeast needs to escape, or the bottle will go boom. Don’t tip a bottle of Federweißer on its side, either; the cap will leak (and most certainly piss off your local Extra checkout lady).

Federweißer is dangerously easy to drink, about as sweet as an Apfelschorle and just as bubbly. It’s traditionally paired with zwiebelkuchen—thick onion cake with bits of bacon and cheezy cream. Like with most old-school recipes, every Oma has her own way of making the cake; while I vouch for none of these recipes (my own attempt was a mash-up of about three), you can find suggestions here, and here and here, with pictures.

I first fell for Federweißer in Prague about 12 years ago; pudgy Czech types would stand on neighborhood street corners with large barrels of young wine (in Czech, bur?ák) while thirsty patrons would line up with empty 2-liter plastic bottles and top up for something like 10 cents a liter. Pubs served the juice in glass pitchers, so you could admire the wine’s creamy, blushed-pink color—the taste was somewhere between chilled, fizzy apricot juice and pear cider.

The German Federweißer bottles I’ve tried so far are more grapey, with flavors of green apple—probably reflecting the type of white wine-grape used for the wine. I’d love to know of a place where you could buy Federweißer in bulk; if you know of a spot, leave it in the comments below. But in the meantime, get out there and grab a bottle or two; once the leaves really start to turn brown and fall, local Federweißer will be long gone. (am)

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