A Jewish proverb states, “when schnapps goes in, judgement goes out”. If this is true, there is a serious lapse in judgement going on in Rüdesheim am Rhein, a snappy old town skirting the Rhine River. This quaint yet touristy township touts itself as the pundit of German winemaking, even paying homage to their folklore wine queen and her princesses during an annual festival. We did sip some tasty local varieties, but most were a bit too sweet for my taste. That being said, there were many people in our group who loved the crisp Rieslings that epitomize the bulk of wines produced in this region.
In the heart of this mecca of all things fermented lies the charming Drosselgasse, a narrow and winding promenade of traditional taverns teeming with patrons and booming with festive tunes. Step inside one or all of these lively establishments and you’ll be faced with a decision: mainline Schnaps or perish. Of course we chose the Schnaps which helped make the Schlager bands even more entertaining. A cow bell rendition of ‘’Edelweiss’’ was topped only by an Elvis impersonator boasting a hopping take on “Jail House Rock” that quickened our pace with the blur-inducing peppermint liqueur. We ate at some point, but I cannot recall much about the meal. Perhaps this culinary amnesia emerged as a byproduct of the peppermint essence that consumed my senses for days following the bumper crop of Schnaps. What would be an appropriate ending to this night, you ask? A drunken conga line, of course!
In short, you’ll have a blast in Rüdesheim am Rhein if you can successfully conjure the spirit and stupidity of a newly minted adolescent. If you happen to be more evolved, you’ll probably want to skip the Schnaps or risk fraternizing with roaming imbeciles like me.
Author’s Note: You may be wondering if I’ve misspelled Schnaps. Nope, this is how the Germans spell it – capitalize ’S’ and drop the extra ‘p’.