Upon entering the restaurant, this emphasis in wine is made instantly clear: bottles are everywhere, lining each wall and dividing the restaurant in to separate dining quarters. The friend with whom I was dining was a long-time friend of Manuel Quiles, son of the aforementioned Nicolas. He was kind enough to show me around the restaurant [in English, nonetheless]. The wines at Vinícolas are organized in two, complementary ways: first by general categories e.g. whites, reds and sparkling wines and then by region. While Vinícolas does, indeed, have both new and old world wines, there is an obvious emphasis in old world wines, namely Italian, French and an immense Spanish section, which is further separated by prominent D.O.C.s [Denominación de Origen Calificada, which is, essentially, the same as the French A.O.C or the American A.V.A]. If a buyer were looking for European wines, he or she needn't look further than Vinícolas, however, when it comes to New World Wines, the choice would have to be made between Robert Mondavi and a handful of Chilean reds.
There were few 'natural' wines and those that were indeed 'natural' weren't immediately distinguishable as such- the plight in many a store. When I asked Quiles about 'natural' wines and their degree of success in Spain, he shared that the movement did not have anything approaching the momentum that exists in France and Germany, where 'natural' wine is more readily embraced and pursued.
Next, we were seated and while we awaited our first of 7 dishes, we were served a positively delightful champagne- so good, in fact, that it compels me to use adjectives like positively delightful. It was a French champagne [as all Champagnes are] by the name of R.H. Coutier [refer to image | bottle on the right] and we were graciously served modest pour after pour. I suspect I've had champagne this good before, however, truthfully, I cannot remember enjoying champagne quite so much. It could be the fantastic way it paired with triple cream brie and shaved truffle bocadillos, croquetas of salted cod and a highly gourmet version of ensaladia rusa with dried black olive dust and sea salt. Each flavor-packed bite and subsequent sip of Champagne felt like a challenge between the two to win the affections of my taste buds. Just when the aioli or foraged trufas had almost put me under their seductive spell, the combative bubbles brought me back to my senses.
The next courses naturally brought with them a new wines. As a transition from the champagne to a local red, we were first offered Blanco Nieva 2012 Verdejo, a strategically selected white wine that would serve as a bridge from espumante to tinto. This wine [refer to image | middle] epitomizes the wine I've been drinking since I arrived in Spain in August: pale yellow-green, floral, complex & elegant- I only wish that every bar that I frequent offered a Verdejo this pleasant. With Blanco Nieva we enjoyed a plate of mussels which seemed to float like little buoys in a garlic, sea-water sauce, as well as navajas [razor clams] with lemon foam. Having never tried navajas, I was surprised by their nutty flavor and meaty texture. The navajas themselves also seemed surprised. They tightened and tensed as if receiving an unwanted caress from the acidic, lemon foam. My quivering plate was slightly disarming, but easy enough to overlook once I tasted the unfamiliar shellfish. It was the best dish of the night.
Regrettably, I am missing more than one of the wines I enjoyed that night. With all the splendor of the seemingly endless plates of beautiful food, I grew a little distracted and stopped taking pictures of the bottles as they came and went. I suppose some of the bubbles from the R.H. Coutier had already gone to my head and I had the false confidence that I'd be able to remember the wines several days later. Wrong! However, I was sensible enough to snap a shot of the local tinto that we drank from Alicante: Beryna 2010, a blend of Monastrell, a popular Alicantinian grape, Tempranillo, Syrah, Merlot and Cabernet [refer to image | left]. While still being a young wine, it had a powerful, peppery aroma and deep color, the sort of red a matador would use to lure in a bull.
Bulls and red are almost a Spanish cliché, but when I was served bull with a purée of alcachofas, artichokes, paired with the Beryna blend, the combination seemed transcendent instead of trite. While the almost bloody bull steak was a very liberal interpretation of al punto, the earthy, unctuous flavor was right on point. The steak revealed its bull-like virility while the buttery, fluttery artichoke possessed all the finesse of the matador.
The dessert at Vinícolas looked as though it had hopped of the menu at Portland's Le Pigeon and sailed across the Atlantic. It was a chocolate-dipped mousse of foie-gras and hazelnut, served up with speculoos dust and micro-greens. If it had been served with a Pinot Noir, I might have believed I'd blinked my eyes, tapped my red slippers and been taken back home. But instead, we were drinking Port (from Portugal, not Portland) which was strong enough to hold it's own against the half-moon of foie, but still contributed to a dessert that was too heavy. I enjoy foie as much as the next hedonist, but I maintain that it behaves better as a starter than as a dessert. I was craving acidity and freshness after the bull and the one leaf of minor's lettuce couldn't stand up to the other rich ingredients that dominated the plate.
Over dessert, I learned that Vinícolas the restaurant really began as an experiment after having had early success with the wine distribution business under the same name. To me the meal had seemed well-crafted, intentional and above-all, laborious, with each ingredient displayed with the precision and pride of an successful abstract artist. And yet, the restaurant was new and still in transition according to Quiles. How nice it would be if all my brainstorms and after-thoughts were as much of a success as Vinícolas.
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