Green apple, butter, toast, and flint can all turn up in a glass of Chardonnay, and each one has a traceable source. Following them leads from Burgundian hillsides into the cellar and the barrel.

Between the Dolomites and the Venetian lagoon lies the home of Amarone, Soave, and Prosecco. It is also a region where a very good glass of wine is rarely more than a few steps away.

For more than a century, the world's largest wine market sat on the Right Bank of the Seine, walled off from the city it supplied. How it rose and why it emptied still explain how the wine trade moves.

Some faults are chemistry, some are logistics, and a few come down to where a given drinker draws the line. Telling them apart saves money and the occasional awkward conversation.

One of Europe's oldest winegrowing traditions sits inside a mountain-ringed basin that almost nobody outside Central Europe can find on a map. The wines are further along than their reputation suggests.

A shared rulebook, eight sets of grapes, and a price that still undercuts the neighbor to the north. The category rewards anyone willing to read past the word on the label.

The title started as a logistics post in a French royal household and ended up on a restaurant floor. What happened in between explains a good deal about where the profession stands now.

It fills liter bottles in Vienna's garden taverns and sells by allocation from terraces above the river. Understanding how one variety manages both starts with the water running below it.

Icewine is among the most labor-intensive and weather-dependent wines on earth, a few concentrated drops of sweetness wrung from frozen grapes. Its history runs deep, so why has the world nearly stopped drinking it?