This weekend was full
of firsts for this American: my first time visiting a Spanish pueblo, my first time tasting sheep’s
brain, my first catholic procession, my first visit to a Spanish bodega [vineyard], and my first giant
family meal in Spain. In many cases, I hope this is the first of several
occasions, while others, like the brain and the procession, can remain as
memories of “that one time in Alpera where I ate goat brains and walked it off
behind her holiness, Santa Cruz”.
Santa Cruz is the name
of the saint in Alpera and it’s also the name of the wine made in the village. The 2012 Santa Cruz de Alpera received
the Gold Selection as the best young wine in Castilla-La Mancha. So, we’re
talking about some very good wine.
Somehow, Bacchus from above, ordained that I would have a Spanish host-family
with some serious wine connections. In fact, my host “brother-in-law”,
Guillermo, is the jefe, the manager
of the entire cooperative where Santa Cruz de Alpera is produced. I had the
pleasure of getting an extensive tour of the facilities from him, as well as
some of his personal thoughts on the regional, national and international wine
industry.
Guillermo was both
literally and figuratively grandfathered into the business. As a little boy, he
would come help his father and learn from the oenologist who was a family
friend. At that time, the bodega, was
far smaller and it was finely tuned to the palate of the aforementioned
oenologist. They made only vino ecológico,
however, not for marketing prouesse, but instead because it made little
sense to do otherwise; they were making good wine without added inputs.
Guillermo said that the winery inevitably grew overtime- growth was necessary
as were changes in winemaking practices. While most of the wine that is made at
Bodega Santa Cruz de Alpera is not ‘natural’, Guillermo thinks that it is
generally far better than when he was a child.
While he personally
prefers the more “woody, earthy” tastes of the ‘natural’ wine that is made at
the bodega, he recognizes that it is surely not the most popular. In the
country where Rioja reigns supreme, other wines that don’t mirror it’s
powerful, fruity flavor have little hope for success. Therefore, the typical
wine made by Guillermo and his 25 or so employees follows that vein.
But, the cooperative
collects a small variety of grapes and separates them by a) varietal and b)
quality. They make a Verdejo, which
I tasted with our tapas meal the night before (extraordinary). They also
collect Tempranillo and Syrah to
blend or make distinct bottles. Their most popular grape, and that which
renders the bodega particular, is the
Garnacha Tintorera grown in the
region and used in their wines. It is the only known grape varietal with dark,
colorful flesh and an equally intense flavor when harvested and fermented.
Later that same day, I
was able to accompany my other host “brother-in-law”, José, to his vines that
grow both eating grapes and wine grapes. Here, I got to see the Garnacha
Tintorera in action. Never before had I permanently stained my clothes or my
hands with grape juice, but never before had I squeezed ol’ tintorera.
The sun was setting in
Spain as I strolled through the vines at the base of some unknown colinas. It was warm out, I was feeding
myself grapes off the vine with my head cocked back to catch the juices. I had
a belly full of fresh tomatoes, a clear mind thanks to my siesta and friends in Alicante to come back to. I wanted to squeal,
“que suerte tengo yo!” So I did. My
host mom just chuckled. I say that almost every day (usually during
mealtime)…I’m not even sure if it’s correct Spanish. Maybe soon, I’ll have
enough suerte to know whether it is
or not. Until then, salud.
P.S. The same meal I
ate the sheep brain, my host father returned from a pigeon hunt and wanted to
take shots, chupitos, to celebrate. I
indulged him. The next morning I woke up with a hangover (no duh…I was
alternating shots of Limoncetto with Crema de Cocoa) and went to get some
breakfast out of the fridge. When I pulled out what I thought was a rollo, a sweet bread eaten every year to
celebrate the procession, I found a floppy, dead pigeon instead. Esta vez, no tuve tanta suerte.
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