Why has Alsace been invaded so often? The answer could just be its wines

Goethe's description of the cathedral of Strasburg can be read as one of the founding documents of the modern era. Setting out to rehabilitate the Gothic style in architecture, he stumbled across the Gothic style in everything else, and resurrected the Goth himself, as a cultural icon and a national idea. If the idea had stayed in the Enlightened brain of Goethe, we should never have had to worry. But it didn't, and following three attempts to put alles in Ordnung in this obstinate region, Strasburg is now home to a Potemkin Parliament and a Potemkin Court, both devoted to pulling the wool over the eyes of Europe.

Alsace itself is neither Latin nor Goth, as can be discovered from its wines. Sold in German flutes, made from German and

French varietals, these wines combine Gothic bouquet with Latin

character. The examples on offer are intensely perfumed and perfectly balanced; and they explain why so many armies have invaded Alsace. The Riesling grows rich and reckless in the dry Alsatian climate. The resulting wine is a far cry from the delicate products of the Rhine and the Mosel, being half as strong again as the German version, with a dry but honeyed flavour and a firm mineral base. I don't as a rule approve of driving the Riesling to 12 per cent, but this wine refutes me. It was an excellent accompaniment to a dish of sauerkraut, or rather choucroute. And as coq au Riesling is an Alsatian delicacy, when time is up for our old cockerel, this will be his sauce.

The Pinot Blanc is equally characterful, though sharper and fresher and with a surprisingly complex bouquet. The immediate impression is of a wine to which hours of work have been devoted, so as to put the best possible polish on an otherwise reticent grape. And just as the Alsatian Riesling tastes of France, so does the Pinot Blanc taste of Germany.

Gewurztraminer has a flavour all its own: as the name implies, this is a spicy grape that breathes from the glass like a dragon, and which fills the mouth with a taste of lychee, greengage and lemon grass. I have a soft spot for the stuff, because it was about the only decent wine for sale in communist Czechoslovakia, when a glass of wine was always urgently needed. But the home of the grape is Alsace, and this delicate example went so well with our cheese omelette that Sophie refused to apply the HP Sauce.

The piece de resistance is the Pinot Noir, normally processed into rose in Alsace, but here presented in all its glory. The result is a clear, pale, fruity red that unfolds like an illuminated manuscript, with brightly coloured edges where the angels dance amid flowers. We drank it chilled with a joint of lamb and then turned happily to our novels, hers Gothic, mine French.

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