Alsace offers great wine, irresistible food, and spectacular scenery. What's not to like? Absolument rien, according to Joseph Ward

The three requisites for a great wine-region visit are wine, of course, food, and scenery. Balanced individuals, my wife included, might add a fourth: something else to do. But if you are looking for advice about museums, shops, or spas, you will have to look elsewhere in this magazine. This column is for the wine side of your brain.

Regions that can fairly claim the holy trinity are Chianti Classico, the Napa Valley, Italy's Piedmont, and maybe Burgundy. I am nuts about Burgundy, but less biased observers have suggested that the scenery there doesn't quite measure up. Bordeaux certainly has the wine and food, but apart from St-Emilion, the region is hardly beautiful. One could propose the Middle Mosel or Australia's Margaret River and I would not argue, but I am sure that no region has wine, food, and scenery the equal of Alsace's.

There are no grand chateaux or great estates in Alsace, and even the best-known producers—Hugel, Trimbach, and Beyer—look very much like what they are: midsize family businesses. For generations, even centuries, they have been fixtures in their villages, places whose outward appearance has changed little over the years.

It is difficult to comprehend the turmoil and tragedy that Alsace suffered in the first half of the twentieth century. Germany took control of the region following the Franco-Prussian War and held on until the end of World War I, when it again became part of France. During World War II, the Germans claimed the region as their own territory and offered young Alsatian men a stark choice: Join the German army or be shipped to a concentration camp. Allied victory restored Alsace to France, but the region remains an ancient anomaly that the modern map of Europe uneasily accommodates. With a German character and a French soul, Alsace has an identity apart.

Last year marked the one thousandth anniversary of the birth of Pope Leon IX, a native of Eguisheim, and there were numerous events and celebrations. When I asked one of the organizers how many French popes there have been, she replied firmly that Leon IX was Alsatian.

The wines reflect this individuality. Two of the three most important grapes, riesling and gewürztraminer, are German, and the third, pinot gris, is little grown elsewhere in France. There are also muscat, pinot blanc, and sylvaner, as well as some pinot noir. In keeping with French tradition, the wines are generally vinified dry, but they are identified by varietal, a common enough practice in the United States and Australia but unusual for France.

'Because of the range of grape varieties and the different styles, we perhaps don't have as clear an identity as other fine wine regions,' Olivier Humbrecht, proprietor of Zind-Humbrecht, tells me. He says this, I believe, without a trace of irony as he leads me to a table with more than 30 wines to try—this after tasting a dozen or more barrel samples. Zind-Humbrecht produces only about 11,000 cases, but it is one of the most important white wine estates not just in Alsace but in all of France.