Hasta Luego, Alicante: An Homage

My, how the time flies. In just three short days I will leave Alicante. And this time, it is semi-permanent. Who knows if or when I will return, however, I would like to focus on the latter: when? Well, the other half of my orange* is a Spaniard, therefore, Spain somehow feels less like a transitory study-abroad destination and more like a part of my future that's already written. But, it's impossible to know when I'll/we'll be returning, so I've decided to pay my respects now.

How shall I do so? I'm tempted to write this post like a love-letter to Alicante. It would look something like this: Querido Alicante, te voy a hechar de menos, algunas cosas más que otras. But, I think I can write more frankly about Alicante if I choose to not address it as if it were a lover. However, if it were a lover, I would describe it as sweaty, pleasure-giving and animated.

Yes, my first impressions of Alicante were: it's covered in graffiti and I'm going to sweat a lot here. Then, I ventured into the shady, white and blue neighborhood of the cuidad antigua and thought "this is rather lovely, I think I'll order a glass of wine and stay a while." Then I was introduced to the beaches which are a far cry from the windy, deserted beaches of the Oregon coast that I'm accustomed to. In my first days, I noticed people selling coconuts, sangria and 40 minute massages for 20 euros. In my months here, I've tried them all and what do they all have in common: a lot of sand. Sand is something you can ignore when it's sticking to the orange peels in your second or third sangria, but it becomes abrasive (literally) during your slippery Thai playa-massage.

Alicante's hedonistic night scene cannot go unmentioned. I remember lounging in Le Jardin du Luxembourg with my favorite college professor who told me about his short stay in Alicante and how the folie in el barrio at night was like nothing he'd seen before or since. Indeed it is wild: Erasmus students squealing in their respective languages, local Spaniard guys hot on their tails, free caramel flavored shots upon entering the bars, a haze of cigarette (is it just cigarettes?) smoke thickening above the heads of those doing botellón in the streets. I remember being shocked when I saw people waltzing around in public with open beer bottles. I recall not knowing at first how to respond when a bartender asked me if I wanted my mojito para llevar (to take with me). However, this is A-OK in Spain and this helps shed some light on a time in Portland where Miguel (zee boyfriend) was walking with a beer in his hand and he was told to chuck it, which he did, with a lot of indigence, something he otherwise only ever showed when he was IDed in US bars. Apparently, these "strict, prudish American vestiges of the Prohibition" were just too culturally out of balance with his own. Aha, I get it now!

What about Spanish cuisine? From a products stand-point, I give only the highest praise. The Mediterranean Diet (which is considered part of UNESCO World Heritage) is ever-present here in Alicante. I've never tasted better cherry tomatoes, mandarin oranges or pescaditos. Nor have I seen white carrots with purple rings around the outside, or persimmons that you scoop out with a spoon. Additionally, I've never seen such heavy hands when I comes to the olive oil bottle. I am a fairly attentive eater and my alarms start to sound when I see someone pouring olive oil onto their plate of jamón in the same gesture and quantity that I use to pour detergent into my washing machine. With that being said, many famed cuisines have their paradoxes, and this must be one of Spain's. I know that I've increased my olive oil consumption 2 or 3 fold and I haven't gained a kilo (bien au contraire) and I've never had clearer skin or faster-growing hair. I'll stop now- I know you don't read my wine blog in order to learn about my personal beauty advances.

When it comes to variety, I would make the same criticism that I would make in France. While the traditional cuisines of both places are nothing short of EXTRAORDINARY, I think that sometimes restaurants and folks at home struggle to introduce new dishes into their repertoire. Here in Spain, the menu del día is very popular, but it varies only a little from week to week. The woman with whom I live would argue that I am wrong ("¿qué va?") because this monday is rice with rabbit and last week it was rice with chicken. Yes, yes, the two are very different animals, however, it's…rice…still. It would be great to hear from someone who's either from Spain or from someone whose had the experience of living in Spain. Is my host mom right; am I simply wrong? I know that it's rare to hear someone valorize American cuisine and I would be the last one that many people would expect to do so, because I've spent my whole adult life worshiping European gastronomy, however, one thing that the US has that Europe doesn't is: no traditions. Each family might have their special treats, however, we've only been a country for a little over 200 years, and as a result, we don't feel a necessary fidelity to certain dishes, ingredients or how to prepare them. It's a cuisine based on fusion, which, for me, is endlessly innovative.

Now, how could I accuse the country that yielded Ferran Adrià and Juan Mari Arzak of not being innovative? Well, to me, there seems to be a large divide between traditional Spanish cooking and the alta cocina, or haute cuisine. Both are of immense value and both are riquísima, however, that mid-section, somewhere between traditional Sunday dishes and once-in-a-life-time Basque country delicacies, is sadly unexplored. And THAT'S where American cuisine really impresses me: inventive, creative meals that rarely are made at home, don't cost a fortune and don't require a reservation a year in advance.

Now, let's turn to Alicante wines (after much ado). I've heard it said by many a casual drinker that the only worth-while wines in Alicante are the white ones. I really dislike these generalities and I am sure that there are several amazing wines that prove that this is false, however, it is mostly in line with my own preferences. I really do prefer the white varietals from this region. It could be that the general climate makes white wines more suitable, or it could be that the heat that pervades most of the year makes one want to drink fresher wines that are kept at a cooler temperature.** While I have said that I prefer whites, I will contradict myself a little by revealing that my over-all favorite wine from the Alicante D.O.C. is indeed red and it comes from Alicante: Beryna, which has been mentioned several times on this blog (it also has its fame in the comment section). It gets its name from the two vintners, Bernabé y Navarro, who produce their authentic wine of high quality and reputation. I've been able to try it in several different contexts and it's always impressed me. And let's not forget Fondillón, a centuries old Alicantian treasure. Read about it here.

So, it's time to wrapt this up. Maybe I'll do it in the form of a love-letter after all:

And, so, dear Alicante, even though you're rarely on time, and I always find myself waiting hours for you to get home so that I can eat dinner, and you seem really closed-off in the afternoon, and I feel like you care about soccer (I mean fútbol) more than me...you're still the one I want to sit with at the table for long, beautiful hours, and lounge with while I look at the Mediterranean Sea, and the one I want to share a bottles of wine with.

I'll miss how warm you kept me in bed all those nights.
Love,
McKenzie

*Orange half=media naranja=soul mate
**One of my biggest pet peeves about you, Alicante, is how you insist on refrigerating red wine. I had some serious doubts about our compatibility when I realized you do that all the time.

What Glows and Sparkles in Antwerp?

The answer is not diamonds. Very smart guess, though.

It's with my tail between my legs that I crawl back into the blogosphere. It's been a shamefully long time since I've posted and pourtant, I've had some excellent enological adventures that are really worth sharing. What's kept me away? Far too many engaging experiences that don't happen in cyberspace but instead in…drumroll… France and Belgium.

That's what will help me segue in to today's topic: Belgian wine. Yes, it exists, but it's overshadowed by the more famous Belgian staples, namely chocolate, waffles and beer. I can't say that the wine was what lured me to the country in the first place, instead, it was the opportunity to see my best friend who, regrettably, lives in Antwerp and not inside my apartment. 

She's making her career as an actress and therefore she spent her days on set filming and I spent them waiting for her to come home, meanwhile looking up recipes to cook and tracking down wines to drink. After putting on layers of warm clothes, I would venture out into the Belgian winter and look for the libations that would warm us from the inside out. Charlotte, the aforementioned best friend, had told me that wine is, in fact, produced in Belgium, but that it hadn't received much acclaim. Nonetheless, I was determined to try it, which is how I made my way through all the wine shops along the river Scheldt. I was welcomed by several cheery, super-proficient-in-English, wine shop owners who offered impressive international variety, but told me that they didn't carry a single bottle of Belgian wine- a bad omen. As I visited more little wine stores, I was told to look for a shop that sold artisanal products exclusively sourced from Belgium, which I eventually found: Belartisan.

I went inside and found wines on both sides of me. Voilà! The friendly shopkeeper politely finished eating his sandwich of préparé and bread (very Belgian) and then came over to give me the schpeil/shpeel/schpeal/low-down on the wines he offered. He told me that, as a matter of fact, wine is grown throughout almost all of Belgium and that an interested consumer can buy many different varieties- sparkling, red, white, however, the sparkling wines are what Belgium is really known for. I might beg the question of whether one can really make the case that Belgium is known for any wines. However, he then told me that a particular sparking wine that they carry, that is made in the méthode traditionelle, which means, in the same way that Champagne is made, actually won a concours in Brussels in 2011 for the world's best sparkling wine. Way to go, Belgium, perhaps I stand corrected. 

This wine is Meerdael and it's made with Chardonnay grapes in Vaalbeek, which is in the Flemmish region of Belgium. It's the only wine made at the domain and owes some of it's success to the vintners from the Champagne region who collaborated with Paul and An Vleminckx-Lefever who established the winery in 1994. 

Because I'd been determined to find Belgian wine and because the gentleman at Belartisan was both enthusiastic and charming, I decided to buy a bottle that is usually far outside of my price range. I justified it by telling myself how hard it would be to find in the US and how much more expensive it would be after you add on importation costs. Plus, I often say that I will choose to economize in other parts of my life, but not food and drink, so it was time to practice what I preach. Furthermore, how many opportunities does one have to treat her Cava-loving, Antwerpian (?) friend to the "world's best sparkling wine" from her own country. I almost let the man in Belartisan convince me to buy some honey that was made exclusively from urban-bees, but came to my senses and left with just the wine. 

So, how was it? It was… good. Charlotte and I ran the gamut of Champagnes and Champagne-style wines during my stay in Antwerp and while it wasn't the best, it was the second best. It beat the cheap Cava in the preliminaries, proved victorious over the fancy restaurant Cava, but was defeated in the final round by the real stuff: Daniel Dumont Premier Cru. Meerdael was fresh, super-bubbly and while it began and fruity and floral, it ended on sour notes which gave it complexity and originality, but I suppose it was that same sourness that I didn't particularly like, which eventually tipped the scales in favor of the Champagne. 

However, as one must do whenever he or she valorizes a wine, one must reflect on their humeur and the ambiance. Could it be that I enjoyed the Daniel Dumont Champagne because it was a celebratory bottle that commemorated the reunion of two best friends who are usually separated by a whole, big ocean? Perhaps it could have been total rubbish and I might swooned just the same: not for its quality but for the ambient joy, the effervescence and the memories associated with it.

In fact, I think Charlotte and I equally enjoyed the $4 André wine we miraculously acquired as minors when we did our first road trip together in high school in 2008. The true pleasure is being together, no matter what we have to sip on.

So, this is beginning to sound more like an homage to everlasting friendship than a eloquent reflection on wine. To return to the topic at hand- the Meerdael was certainly good. Would I implore my American readership to hunt it down in the US? Probably not. However, should you find yourself in Belgium, it is very much worth it.

While your here, there is something that I do implore you to track down. Don't worry, it won't be hard. That very special thing is glühwein, a word that  means glowing wine, but refers to vin chaud or mulled wine. If sangria makes you ready to embrace the summer months, then this is surely the winter equivalent. And for me, it's a thousand times better. It's hot hot wine mixed with cinnamon, cloves, anise, mace, nutmeg, sugar and sometimes vanilla bean pods. I first tried it when I was 17 and living in France and it will forever remind me of chilly, festive evenings full of the promise of holiday cheer and comfort. While I could choose to call it sacrilegious to add sugar and spices to wine, something I usually prefer in it's most natural state, I absolutely adore glühwein. 

Charlotte and I spent our last afternoon together strolling the frosty streets of Antwerp, while warming our hands with our cups of glühwein (feeling like I was on a different planet than Alicante). On this planet, we drink lots of bubbles, reminisce like it's a national sport and revel in friendship. It was with a heavy heart that I had to leave.