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.