There's a Reason Why Swiss Army Knives Have Corkscrews

Today I write you from a place I’ve never explored before, and that place is… Switzerland! Before arriving in la Suisse five days ago, I knew little more about the country besides its stereotypes and emblematic objects: neutrality, punctuality, banks, knives, watches and chocolate. I feel mostly ambivalent towards banks and knives, but I adore my Swiss watch and, like most breathing humans, I like chocolate. Especially a nice chunk of dark chocolate paired with Port. However, we’re a long ways from Portugal and I thought I’d have to take a break from my enological pursuits after leaving my temporary Mediterranean home.

But, destiny wouldn’t have it so. Today I visited Les Dames de Hautecour in Mont-Sur-Rolle, Switzerland. Well, I guess I can’t call it destiny. These fabulous three hectares didn’t materialize in order to link up with some sort of fate I was meant to stumble upon. In fact, they are just living another year of a 365-year-old tradition and I had the good fortune of visiting.

Currently, I am backpacking through Europe with my cousin and our gracious host put us in touch with a friend of hers, Coraline De Wurstemberger, the owner and manager of Les Dames de Hautecour, a delightful winery nestled between Geneva and Lausanne.

Coraline explained to us the history of the domain, beginning with its origins in 1649 and how it has since passed through several generations of her family. How? À travers the hands of female proprietors, hence the name Les Dames de (The Women of) Hautecourt. Coraline also is the founding member of Les Artisanes de la Vigne et du Vin, a Swiss organization comprised of the 10 female winery managers/owners/wine makers as well as L’International Associalted Women in Wine. You go, girl!

Coraline lived and worked in several different continents before becoming the sole proprietor of Les Dames de Hautecour, and as such, she has the power to produce wines to her standards. The reason why I am so eager to write about her and share my experience at her domain is because her winemaking philosophy strikes a similar chord to my –um- consumption philosophy.

Sidenote: Because I am not a winemaker and because I know relatively little about the annual struggles of producing a wine, I can only really have a philosophy about the wines I consume and try to make myself a well-informed consumer. The more I study winemaking, the less exigente I feel I need to be… for now. Until I know more about sulfites, non-native yeasts, etc. I need to leave those decisions to those who have their livelihoods on the line. Which brings me back to Coraline and her wines…

She discussed with us a powerful concept, which I’ve mentioned on my blog before, and that is viticulture raisonnée (sustainable viticulture). For me, it’s a well-balanced philosophy that respects both the land from which grapes are grown, the plants that provide the fruit, the grapes themselves and the reasonable additives that make a wine stable. She shared that in many cases, she trusts the production techniques of her fellow vigneron(ne)s raisonné(e)s, than those who have pursued the ‘Bio’ label (Europe’s equivalent of organic). She also proudly shared that over 90% of the wines produced in Switzerland today are done my means of viticulture raisonnée. Again, way to go!

Before trying the wines, Coraline showed us the vines themselves, which were obviously a little bare (it’s January in Switzerland) but otherwise, they looked in perfect health. They proudly wore the names of their varietals, which, contrary to what I’d been told by a different Swiss person (not a winemaker), are not typically blended. At Les Dames de Hautecourt, particular varietals are chosen for the terroir to which they are best suited. There are three: one which grows exclusively Chasselas, one near Coraline’s garden and tasting room which grows exclusively Pinot Noir (my favorite, at last!) and a third which also has Pinot Gris, Gamay and Chasselas Violet, which gets its name from the violet clusters which can, sometimes, produce rosés, but are selected only for Coraline’s whites.

We were graciously invited into her tasting room, which was heated with an open flame. Nothing seemed more inviting than a little warmth and a little wine. She offered us tasting of the three Chasselases which are produced at the domain, but not before revealing a bag of pastries that she’d picked up for us to go along with our degustation. While speaking of her generosity, I should also take this time to mention that she even came to pick us up at the train station…and gave us bottles of wines as “gifts” as if we’d somehow been the one’s going out of our way to treat her to a special afternoon and not the other way around.

Returning to the wines, we had the opportunity to meet Chasselas in three forms: Réserve, sur lie and violet. The Chasselas Réserve is a favorite of Coraline’s for its versatility and its ability to refresh the palate. It’s both fruity and dry and we left with two bottles, a 2011 and 2012. Olivia, my cousin, and I can do a vertical* (thanks, Philippe!) tasting one of the nights in Austria (our next destination) where the snow it to thick to go out. Next, we tried Chasselas Violet, which offered a completely new flavor profile while still being fruity and dry. Coraline said it was sweeter and more acidic and I felt that it had a slightly more bitter edge. She shared that one of the characteristics of Chasselas Violet was that as the vines get older, they offer caramel notes on the finish. Perhaps it’s that last, pleasant note that makes you quickly go back for another sip. Finally, we tasted Chasselas sur lie, which is produced in an ancient method: barrel-aged for 12 months and then, subsequently bottle-aged for a minimum of 2 years. She also explained that the lies or the sediments that remain after the alcoholic fermentation are not discarded like they usually are, instead they remain in the barrel through malolactic fermentation. This makes for a wonderful Chasselas (my personal favorite).

We did not try Coraline’s red varietals, however, one of the bottles we were gifted was a 2011 Pinot Noir, which we will have with tonight’s dinner of spätzle with beef, spinach and mushrooms. I can smell it cooking now and it’s proving to be a giant distraction that I will have to overcome.

I cannot finish this post without reiterating how impressed we were upon leaving Les Dames de Hautecourt. I felt excited to learn of a whole new region- a whole new country, for that matter- wherein I could source my future wines and wine inspiration. I felt exhilarated after seeing what Coraline had succeeded in doing with her domain and her associations in an industry, which has almost always been dominated exclusively by men. Yeah, Dionysus and Bacchus, I’m talkin’ to you! Tonight, I think we’ll toast our Les Dames de Hautecourt 2011 Pinot Noir to a lady deity and celebrate those like Coraline and the generations of wine women who came before her.

Ocean Foam or Sidra Foam?

 For those of you who read my blog, you might wonder, “Where has she gone? Has she suddenly lost interest in wine?” Well, the answer is definitively “NO!” however, I have been a poor steward of my blog. It’s been a wonderfully busy month, yet, the hub-bub makes it more of a challenge to sit down and muse about wine. Especially when all of my enological experiences of late are hard to write about in succinct, meaningful posts. Why? Well, I have not visited any wineries or participated in any tasting events per se. I haven’t met any new friends who are directly linked to the wine industry or tried wine from a country that I didn’t know produced it.

Instead, I’ve been celebrating otherwise meaningful moments and wine has taken more of a backstage role, while remaining ever-present. I bid my adieux to those I loved in Alicante over bottles of wine. Particularly on my third-to-last night where we went to a bar called Vino y Más, a place I’ve wanted to go ever since my very first stroll through Alicante. To all of those soon to visit, this little store is a must. If your experience is anything like mine, you’ll get a few free tapas and free reign of the music.

I received bottles of wine as parting gifts, which proved to be challenging souvenirs to take with me. I must have looked rather funny when leaving Alicante on a train for Madrid with 2 bottles of wine perched in my backpack. I had the rest wrapped in scarves and stuffed into a broken bag that I had to carry close to my chest like an infant.

I was able to lesson my load when I opened one of the bottles, a rosé champagne, the first night that I left to celebrate a long-anticipated reunion with the man I love (Who, as a matter of fact, didn’t drink any wine while we were apart as a gesture of his affections- I wonder if the gesture would have ever manifested if I were a beer-lover, his actual drink of choice).

From that moment forward, wine was poured several times a day- it seemed like everything was a celebration. Miguel’s return to Asturias, my presence at his family’s dinner table, the reunion of his best friends, Christmas Eve, our first glass in front of the fireplace in Vibañu, etc. It was as if Albariño and Tempranillo were the friendly ghosts of Christmas cheer that followed our every move.

But, I wasn’t done celebrating. Just two days after Christmas, I flew to Catalonia to meet my cousin. It was in Barcelona that we debuted our two-month backpacking trip through Europe. The first glass we shared together also happens to be the most comical glass I’ve ever drunk. It was served to us in a porrón, which looks a bit like a pointy nipple and spits out wine in an arc that you have to catch in your mouth. Beware of the inevitable chin dribbled that will ensue. As much as I got a kick out of the porrón, it left you no time at all to savor and reflect on the wine because in order to pour correctly you had to simultaneously gulp down the wine. It reminded me a lot of the way that I have to drink water when I have the hiccups.

When Liv, my cousin, and I returned to Asturias, we sort of ran the gamut on beverages. We drank sidra with the villagers of Cudillero, vermut especial with Miguel’s friends, local Asturian beer, sparking hard cider that even his 84-year-old Grandma enjoyed with us, and, admittedly, Jagger-bombs and gin & tonics on New Years Eve.

We’ve since left Asturias and it’s funny how quickly one looses the habit of enjoying good drink. There, it was abundant- all one had to do what reach across the table and enjoy an excellent wine selected my Miguel’s family. Since we’ve left, we have to consider our budget, deliberate and usually make up our righter minds and decline. The life of a 23 year old backpacker is not one of luxury.

However, I was extremely lucky to receive the gift of a dinner reservation at Arzak, one of the best restaurants in the whole world. It’s located in San Sebastián and touts some of the finest haute cuisine known to the modern palate. Olivia and I were speechless… for several reasons. First, the establishment was beautiful and the 16 course meal was astounding and second, because we felt slightly nervous. We whispered and tried to obey all the ‘rules’ that seemed necessary due to the pomp and circumstance that went into making the restaurant seem of highest quality. Slowly, however, that feeling seemed to fade. Maybe it was facilitated by the Verdejo we were enjoying or because the decibel of the entire restaurant seemed to increase when the food started arriving. It’s hard to keep in one’s enthusiasm when you’ve just had the single best-taking mushroom of your life or when your waiter is cracking open a foam shell in order to reveal the sea-bass underneath. Everything about the meal was extraordinary and we savored every minute of it, knowing full well that we might never be invited to a meal so luxurious again in our lives. We were one of the last groups in the restaurant and, obviously, in no rush to leave. But alas, the clock was about to strike twelve and we didn’t want our glass slippers to turn into the hyper-masculine hiking boots we’ve been wearing the other hours of the day.

Now, I’m writing from a train that’s taking us from San Sebastián to Périgeux, Frances capital of foie gras. Seeing as that’s now illegal in California, the home state of both my cousin and myself, I wonder what else we’ll encounter that borders on unhealthy debauchery? What ever it is, sign me up! Je suis bien prête.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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. 

In Pursuit of Terroir & el Placer with Miguel Angel De Gregorio

Here comes another installment of my adventures in Rioja. We were only there for two days and yet, I've only managed to give you a debriefing on about half of what we experienced. Well, I'm about to hit your with some more. Today, I want to write about Finca Allende and Finca Nueva. Both belong to Miguel Angel De Gregorio, a passionate, generous, pleasure-seeking believer in terroir wines.

Miguel Angel provided me with some information about the winery and I will copy here a few quotes from the first page he gave me, which introduce his philosophy- which, as it turns out, is a different approach then that taken by many other wineries in Rioja who rely on blending to make their best wines. Miguel Angel writes,

"In 1986, when I arrived in Briones and I discovered the singular Terroir I always dream of. I started buying old vineyeard plots and I tried to know and understand each Terroir. We gradually found our model. The expressiveness of the terroir, very structured wines, very market tannins with lots of mineral aromas… year after year, pruning after pruning, harvests after harvests, we try to extract the whole essence from each one of our vines, to introduce her inside every bottle."

I intern as a translator and parts of me itch to edit the writing, but if I did, certain beautiful things would be lost. Such as the ever-so poetic use of a feminine third person singular subject in the last sentence: to introduce her inside every bottle. It just sounds so much better that way. It almost gives the terroir a human presence, elevating it's importance to that of the other humans involved in the winemaking process.

At Finca Allende and Finca Nueva, that is precisely what Miguel Angel seeks to achieve. He says he modeled his winery not after the giant, successful wineries of Rioja, but instead he looks north, to Bordeaux (after a few glasses of wine, he will begin to explain to you in French, what makes Bordeaux si beau, si rempli de la passion). A large part of the inspiration he gets from Bordeaux is reflected in his acute attention to terroir. At Finca Allende, his 56 hectares of vines are divided into 92 plots based on their distinct characteristics. That means the most plots measure just over half a hectare!

At Finca Allende, Miguel Angel cultivates mostly Tempranillo, but also Garnacha (which he calls Grenache, the French equivalent), Graciano, Malvasia and Viura. At Finca Nueva, he narrows his focus to three grapes: Tempranillo, Grenache and Viura. For aging, all Finca Allende wines are aged in barrels for an average of about 3 years. Can you guess what kind of barrels they're using… mais oui, 100% French oak Allier from Bordeaux. And the bottles…Bordeaux encore!

Finca Nueva has a slightly different 'personality' than that of Finca Allende. Their tagline is: "Vinos Divertidos | Pleasure Wines", therefore, certain aspects of the vinification processes are different. For example:

"The fresh, funny, pleasure wines: Finca Nueva Tempranillo, Rosé and Viura. The winemaking is done in stainless steel tanks with the method of destalked harvest, making intensive pumping over and shaking. Then the wine is bottled."

Pues, now that I've shared a few statistics and general factoids, I'll tell you about my experience at the winery. For starters, the fact that our 2 hour tour became a 9 hour afternoon of debauchery should give you a good idea about the kind of time I had.

When we arrived at the doors of the XVII century palace that is now home to the winery, we were greeted by Veronica, the winemaker. (*Well, first my friend, Manuel, had to de-robe himself because a baby lizard crawled down his sweater while Veronica and I mused about the beauty of the palace). She explained it was her first tour and that she had been swamped with the vendimia, or the harvest. When we met Miguel Angel, the deep red stains on his hands confirmed this. He stayed with us long enough to crack a few jokes, smoke a few cigarettes and make lunch reservations for all of us.

Then Veronica continued to show us around. For the first time, I was in a winery when the skins were actually being pressed, a process performed in order to extract the last of the juice (well, technically, it's wine already). She offered me a glass of the freshly-pressed wine, which is more-or-less the final product minus aging and the flavors that are imbued therein. We continued down to where hundreds of barrels are kept and got to try a few of the wines straight from the barrel, a treat that always reminds me how darn lucky I am to have snuck my little foot in the door of an incredible industry. At this stage, none of the wines had been filtered, which is just how I like 'em. Veronica shared that, in fact, only a small handful of wines are filtered at all, while most are left with whatever sediment or cloudiness they currently posses. The whites, and some rosés are filtered, mainly because many consumers find the murkiness unappetizing (quel dommage).

After our tour of the cellar, we headed back to the palace where Miguel Angel had organized a cata of several wines from both Finca Allende and Finca Nueva. If I had to select those that I liked more, every time it would have been  the "fun" wines from Finca Nueva; they just seemed more unique and more assertive. They seemed more like Miguel Angel himself.

After drinking what counts as far more than an aperitivo, Miguel Angel invited us to lunch where he brought with us two of his own Gran Reserva Bottles. I see why these are considered his "Pleasure Wines"- because they accompany so well other hedonistic pursuits like rich food, dirty jokes and musings about sexual liberation. I could have been listening to the Macarena for as many times as I heard "Dale a tu cuerpo la alegria".

After the wine glasses contained nothing but lagrimas against their sides and the plates had been wiped clean by the last bits of bread, we returned to the winery where snake-like tubes were still transporting wine from tank to tank to barrel. Miguel Angel insisted it would be OK to sneak away for a bit in order for us to see the town of Briones, home of his bodega. He was an excellent tour guide and he lead us through small, winding streets, into a church and then into a bar where several of his fellow winemaking amigos were drinking- ironically- anything but wine. I was reminded of Barnaby Tuttle, a winemaker in Portland who once said to me while bottling wine at 1am in the morning and drinking Budlight, "It takes a lot of bad beer to make good wine."

This certainly appeared true that night in Rioja and Miguel Angel would have undoubtedly agreed. However, had I asked him earlier that afternoon, his response would have probably been more like this: "To make good wine, it requires a good terroir. She will be your guide."

*Top right image from Aseuniv

A Girl Gets A Grant

I found out at 4am this morning, that my Dinah Dodds Endowment Grant proposal had been accepted. This means that in December I will get to carry out some fascinating research in Asturias. The working title: Sidra & the Asturian Language: Lexical Nexus of Tradition and Production. So, this means that I will have to take a short hiatus from my cyber-ego of 'a girl and a vine' and trade it for 'a girl and a pumar*'

*a pumar is an apple tree in Asturian