I once wrote an article entitled "Alas, Poor Alsace." Alas indeed because despite a centuries-long winemaking history and a nearly as long reputation for producing high-quality wines, Alsace's tall, skinny bottles are largely a consumer afterthought, even in this sophisticated market we inhabit. While much of this consumer indifference—the trade hasn't been kind to Alsace's producers either; few wine lists or wine store shelves have more than a handful of Alsace offerings on them—is directly attributable to the misfeasance of Alsace's producers themselves, much of it is also related to inertia.

For the most part, wine drinkers drink what they drink and remain faithful to what they know, even if the fidelity is less than enthusiastic. It's less that we love what we know, it's just easier to stick with what we know than venture out, particularly when there are so many mistaken assumptions about those tall, skinny bottles to begin with. And it's a shame because few regions in the wine world provide such a food-friendly wine palette as Alsace.

The vast majority of the wine made in Alsace, a relatively skinny sliver of earth located in France's far northeast, is white. There is some pinot noir; in fact nearly every producer bottles it, but even though it has greatly improved in lockstep with better vineyard practices, you'd be far better off getting yours from Burgundy, California, Oregon and New Zealand. The whites, however, are wonderful. The range of stylistic choice for consumers may be unmatched among the world's best wine regions. From humble, crisp pinot blanc (think green apple) to the eminently complex riesling (steely citrus to ripe stone fruit mellowed by age), there is something suitable for just about any cuisine or dish, except perhaps red meat.

There are a bunch of other grapes of note, but outside of pinot gris (smoky, rich and the furthest thing from pinot grigio despite being the same variety), gewürztraminer (floral, fat and tropical, and spelled without the umlaut in Alsace) and muscat (some of riesling's complexity with some of pinot blanc's approachability), they don't rise to the level of accomplishment of these five, though each has its advocates. The advantages that Alsace's winemakers have are huge. For one thing, Alsace is among the world's most consistent production zones. From the very low end (under $10 a bottle) to the scarily high (well over $200 for a half bottle for some sweet wines), it's very difficult to find technically unsound wine there.

For another, Alsace's labels have long been American friendly; none of the gothic script found just across the Rhein in Germany (make that Rhin in French). Alsace labels have also long sported the grape name on them, something that other areas of France and the world are only now figuring out is quite important over here. And dollar for ounce, even in these difficult euro/dollar days, there are few better buys at every level. Grand Cru Alsace wines can be had for as little as $25a bottle. See how far the same gets you from Burgundy for some perspective.

And yet, there those tall, skinny bottles often sit, alone and misunderstood. The primary reason for this is that consumers equate tall and skinny with German and sweet. Factor in the historic back and forth of Alsace between Germany and France, and the primacy of Germanic-sounding placenames (of the 51 grands crus, probably 90 percent are more Teutonic sounding than French) and surnames, and it's no wonder that there is so much confusion.

German wines are nothing like Alsace wines, but the unfortunate and self-imposed irony is that at the very same time Alsace's winemakers have had to push back against incorrect geographic assumptions, they've done themselves a disservice by not properly labeling the sweetness levels of their wines. Many consumers understandably recoil upon openning a bottle that for all intents and purposes should be quite dry and find instead that it is closer to off dry. It might be technically "dry" but is at the very edge of the legal analytic limits. Many winemakers deny that there is a problem, but they are simply in denial.

There is a place for every style of wine, from bone dry to richly sweet, but a consumer should never have to guess where on the scale their bottle falls. Ice Bucket Selections back labels eliminate any question. Even assuming that Alsace producers one day provide full and fair disclosure on their back labels, there will always be the German thing. Alsace, as one notable producer once told me, is more French than all of France, and yet, even to the French, the region is considered an oddity. It's neither French, nor German, the thinking in France goes, so even in the mother country, those tall, skinny bottles are routinely ignored in bistros and restaurants outside of the region.

C'est dommage, but one positive about the wines also will forever be true: Once consumers try them, they are nearly always hooked.