A WSET 4 Birthday: Where the Wines Get Judged More Harshly Than the Guests

This dinner was for my friend Hans, a WSET 4 wino and one of the few people I trust implicitly with both a corkscrew and my palate. We share the same affliction: a love and passion for wine that occasionally borders on poor financial judgment.

So for his birthday, the table became a classroom, a confessional, and a boxing ring as we opened three bottles with nothing in common except complexity and strong opinions. A Saar unicorn from a lost climate era, a Soldera that refuses to age like a normal Brunello, and a Quintarelli Amarone that arrived muscular yet strangely polite.

A fitting lineup for someone who’s spent years tasting, studying, and obsessing over wine... and still finds joy in every glass.

A single-wine flight to set the tone. This was the “oh right, Hans has WSET 4, we’re starting serious” moment. A Riesling that operates somewhere between monk-like austerity and geological intensity — featherweight body, heavyweight character.

• 1989 Hans Kramp Ayler Kupp Saar Riesling Kabinett Trocken 92 Points

  Germany, Mosel Saar Ruwer

  A relic from a climatic reality we no longer inhabit, the kind of wine that simply can’t be produced today without divine intervention or a time machine. Dry as a chalkboard, only 9.3% alcohol, yet somehow completely ripe and packed with flavor. Modern producers trying to replicate this effect would end up with something either underripe, over-alcoholic, or spiritually confused.
  
  The aromatics lean heavily into stone and herb, like someone grated lemon zest over a pile of warm slate. Sure, there’s a flicker of peach and that cinnamon-threaded signature running through the ’89 Kramp lineup, but this bottle is far more about rocks and leaves than fruit salad. On the palate: a tense, slate-infused jolt of citrus and herbs, potently dry, hyper-fresh, and buzzing with Saar electricity. It’s lean but not thin, brisk but not sharp. A wine that overachieves at 9.3% the way some people run marathons after “forgetting” to train.
  
  A quintessential Saar artifact and a reminder of how beautifully strange Riesling could be before climate change turned everyone’s Kabinetts into mini-Spätlesen.

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Soldera solo, because nothing else deserves (or survives) sharing a stage with it. A Brunello that acts like it studied abroad in Burgundy, learned elegance, and brought home a streak of bitterness for “complexity.” A wine made for someone like Hans, analytical yet romantic about what's in the glass.

• 2004 Soldera (Az. Agr. Case Basse) Brunello di Montalcino Riserva 96 Points

  Italy, Tuscany, Montalcino, Brunello di Montalcino

  Youthful in that unnerving Soldera way, where the wine appears to have found the fountain of eternal adolescence and refuses to behave like a 20-year-old Brunello. Perfume explodes out of the glass, floral lift, rosehip tea, and that ethereal prettiness that evokes Mugnier’s Clos de la Maréchale. But don’t be fooled: underneath lurks the stern musculature of a Chevillon Vaucrains. The palate glides, then grips, finishing with a Campari-tinged bitterness that feels intentional, architectural, almost Italian in its insistence that pleasure must coexist with a hint of punishment. Alive, balanced, and vibrating with energy. A wine that meditates but also shadowboxes.

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Quintarelli to close, not because it’s heavy, but because it’s grand. The kind of wine that teaches you power doesn’t have to be loud. An Amarone that flexes with restraint, much like Hans when he politely disagrees with a tasting descriptor.

• 1995 Giuseppe Quintarelli Amarone della Valpolicella Classico Superiore Riserva 94 Points

  Italy, Veneto, Valpolicella, Amarone della Valpolicella Classico Superiore

  The legend arrives, and instead of the feared oak-and-alcohol sledgehammer, it politely taps you on the chin just to show it could knock you out if it wanted. Aromas of stewed dark fruit, baking spices, Mediterranean scrub, and a dessert cart trilogy of chocolate, toffee, and espresso grounds. But the shocker: it’s measured. Muscular, yes — a wine with deltoids — but never bloated. The palate is layered, warm, and comforting without crossing into syrup. It’s Amarone doing tai chi rather than weightlifting. A subtlety you don’t expect from a producer whose wines often show up with their shirts off.

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Celebrating Hans, a serious wine mind with a playful palate, reminded me why we open bottles together in the first place. Wine isn’t just fermented grape juice; it’s shared curiosity, shared learning, shared joy.

From Saar tension to Tuscan precision to Veneto warmth, each bottle gave us something to dissect, debate, and enjoy. A birthday dinner worthy of a WSET 4 palate… but more importantly, worthy of a friend who loves wine as much as I do.