I am thrust out of slumber by the noise of you in the kitchen, but I know you are making me a cup of coffee, so I hug the pillow next to me and smile. I roll over to search for the clock on the ledge beside your bed. It is 8 am. The darkness in the room is as heavy as my eye lids and the morning light can only make its way through the open door via the window in the kitchen. The bedroom window is barricaded from the suns early morning distractions and the next-door-neighbor’s dog’s late night disruptions.
I stagger into the washroom to check out my medusa hair and rinse my mouth and wine stained lips. I find you hovering over the stove already dressed in yesterday clothes ready to take on the world. A supportive hug is lent to my sleepy head and I drift back into your smell. You release me gently from the cradle of your shoulder and pour coffee for two. We sit and watch the world intently through the eyes of your backyard while shades of emerald life flicker in the morning sun. We hardly look or speak with each other and the moment is peaceful and the coffee is really good.
The night before dances across my dreamy vision while I prepare to let the previous day go and organize myself for this one to begin. My thoughts linger in yesterday’s moments that stand out and I recall; dinner, watered down wine and sweet dark beer. I reminisce on bits of conversation, rare meat with salad and chuckles over the blasphemy of our desire to add ice and water to the simple vino that quenches our summertime thirst and washes down our salty beef. With grown up juice we play make believe and share a picnic party for two hunched over wine barrel benches in the evening sun. As the sun disappears the wine thickens along with the conversation.
A change of scenery is met with a stroll in the warm breeze as we head in the direction of the local corner store and neighborhood kitchen. You lead me to a small austere brick structure, not more than four walls and roof, painted yolk yellow and adorned with a luminated sign reading “Las Tranqueras”. The store is perched on the opposite side of a wide and deep irrigation canal beneath the shade of huge tree wedged into the channel itself. A small bridge of rough and lacquered timber wobbily allows passage to the busy convient store.
There is a line up of locals with sticky children eating ice cream while the resident parents wait for pizza and empanadas to go. Rounds of mortadella and cheese are stacked in glass cases and flats of eggs and country style bread fill the countertops. Refrigerators of cold pop and beer stand next to shelves full of cheap wine and booze that line the walls behind a man with a pony tail. Glimpses of a woman with a sturdy yet voluptuous figure are caught through the door to the kitchen. She is wearing black sweat pants and t-shirt covered by an old fashioned apron. She swaggers with full hips and full hands sharing her mother’s empanadas with the neighborhood.
A big bottle of black beer is ordered and it comes cold with the cap still on. A handy bottle opener is wedged into the door frame bestowing us with immediate drinking pleasure. We park ourselves on a few tree stump stools, and lean against uneven varnished logs which are loosely hammered into a railing, defining a seating area out of a patch of dry compacted dirt. We sip out of the bottle and watch in amazement as people continuously course through the tiny place. Paper packages with grease seeping through the layers are whisked in the hands of sweat pant clad wives to the waiting cars of hungry husbands and kids. The smell of greasy empanadas wafts through our conversation.
We chat and argue friendlily between swigs of brown sugary malted stout. We discuss the man and the woman, husband and wife together sharing their simple life with the world one empanada at a time. After philosophical debates on life and the need for change you wonder if I ever place myself in theirs, serving empanadas and cold cuts to the neighborhood. We both decide that it seems honest and happy and needless to say successful. It was romantic and so was the moment. The implications were clear so we ordered two empanadas and another bottle of beer.
With only minutes to spare the couple oblige as they begin to wrap up their work day. Two yummy bundles of meat and seasoning baked into crispy goodness are delivered to us on a paper towel. We munch and wink at each other with content, as we are convinced we are enjoying the fruits of this candid union. The lights go out and the door is locked. We wait for them to kiss, smile at each other and bid us as good as evening as theirs before they retreat to their minimal yet quaint home next door. We prepare ourselves for this perfect moment with a sigh and puppy dog eyes.
When to our dismay the couple turn and nonchalantly give each other a platonic nod good night, a “hey I’ll see ya tomorrow” shrug while they heedlessly turn in opposite directions. For a second we look at each other in wide eyed horror before we burst into laughter. We discuss the man and the woman once again, but this time their lives separate.
With grown up juice we play make believe and watch the man get in his car. We imagine that he is off to meet his buddies and the only warmth he will feel is a tummy full of whiskey and the friction from a stack of dirty magazines. Our eyes follow the woman to the house next door and we envision that she opens the door to find her fat husband who pays her no attention watching TV and her screaming children who don’t know her loneliness selfishly running rampant. We both decide that it seems honest and sad and needless to say miserable.
We finished our beer and walk back home arm in arm and the moment was romantic and the implications were clear. This morning I place myself in the life where I remember; dinner for two hunched over wine barrel benches, the blasphemy of watered down wine and good conversation over sweet dark beer. The coffee is really good and we are ready for another day.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Tempus Alba
Tempus Alba is the new kid on the block when it comes to wineries in the historic town of Maipu. Stepping onto the property I had emotional flashback of being an insecure goofy pre-teen. The winery is located just outside the town’s limits in the rural neighborhood of Cocombito, and Tempus Alba sports all rage complete with shinny sneakers and flashy bling. Reminiscent of the kid in my class who showed up every year with better pencil crayons, I wanted to loath the space Cadillac winery but secretly coveted their rainbow of colors.
After my envious temper tantrum had subsided I discovered that Tempus Alba is not a pre-pubesant teen with the latest jeans. With wine making coursing through its veins, this family owned and operated venture raises their wines as one of their own. A unique state of the art winery producing high quality, world marketable wines made with old world traditions and new world ideas. A new movement is being fostered in this progressive wine temple.
Like a wine legend the story began four generations ago when an Italian immigrant family escaped to Mendoza, with the determination to create a better a life. Hard work and a strong work ethic blossomed into a relationship between the family and the vine. Like many of the old wine families of Mendoza they were struck with hardship, but with the vine’s roots still deep in the families’ core, a super sonic winery was resurrected five years ago. The acting general manager and resident oenologist are two of three sons from the original blood line, and the starship enterprise of wineries prevails.
Like it was transplanted from outer space the impressive raw travertine stone and polished concrete structure stands in the heart of the Maipu district. Reflecting the suns rays, the architecture is striking and glows in shades of warm yellows, oranges and taupe. Modern yet earthy and clearly of a different plane the angular building seems rounded and flowing, a grand illusion that reflects the wines themselves. A roof top terrace and tasting lounge floats over 3 ha of Malbec vines with a view expanding into the horizon. A great selection of wine flights and wines by the glass are offered to sample while spacing out on the magical view. Simple yet classy nibblies of local nuts and olives are available to cleanse the palate while absorbing the spectacular scenery.
Today the slick facility produces 300,000 liters of cosmic juice per year. Galactic waves of Malbec, Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah, Tempranillo, Merlot, and Bordeaux style blends, take on the universe with a smooth and lustrous undulation. The line up is all domain bottled and mostly 100% varital blended excluding the Pleno, a Bordeaux style blend that to my mind is one of the best in Mendoza. All of the reds have been acquainted with both French and American oak from 3 to 15 months and all have seen another 8 months of bottle age before being released. You can find these wines in 23 US states, parts of Canada and Europe, Brazil and of course Argentina.
Three vineyards covering 110 ha of earth produce grapes for the polished operation. The largest cultivation in Lujan de Cujo blankets over 40 hectares, customary flood irrigation is practiced and the likes of Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Malbec can be found here. Up in the hills of Tupangato sixty five year old Tempranillo and Snagiovese vines grow with traditional flood irrigation quenching the thirst of the deep-rooted vines. The remaining vineyard in Maipu is dedicated to growing Malbec with innovative drip irrigation feeding the “primavera zona” raised vines, and a three hectare cultivation of Malbec encompasses the winery, for let’s say, systematic testing.
Abducted by superior wine aliens? Has Tempus Alba been to an unknown place and returned to its roots refined and full of enlightened ideas? A new-age project to develop the prized Malbec varital is perused at Tempus Alba. The experimental Malbec vines that surround the beautiful architecture are cultivated solely for this novel purpose. Over 350 clones have so far been studied and documented in the quest to find the 10 best genetic copies. Complete with a sate of the art laboratory where Malbec clones are closely monitored and studied, Tempus Alba searches for a genetically superior grape.
The winery and the people behind it are soft natured with an intelligent structured core. There is an unaltered natural flare, cut with sharp precision and brilliance to this winery and it wines alike. Tempus Alba is open to the public Monday to Friday for guided tours and tastings with knowledgeable bi-lingual staff. Visit this up and coming winery to stay on the cutting edge of the rising and trendy South American wine scene.
After my envious temper tantrum had subsided I discovered that Tempus Alba is not a pre-pubesant teen with the latest jeans. With wine making coursing through its veins, this family owned and operated venture raises their wines as one of their own. A unique state of the art winery producing high quality, world marketable wines made with old world traditions and new world ideas. A new movement is being fostered in this progressive wine temple.
Like a wine legend the story began four generations ago when an Italian immigrant family escaped to Mendoza, with the determination to create a better a life. Hard work and a strong work ethic blossomed into a relationship between the family and the vine. Like many of the old wine families of Mendoza they were struck with hardship, but with the vine’s roots still deep in the families’ core, a super sonic winery was resurrected five years ago. The acting general manager and resident oenologist are two of three sons from the original blood line, and the starship enterprise of wineries prevails.
Like it was transplanted from outer space the impressive raw travertine stone and polished concrete structure stands in the heart of the Maipu district. Reflecting the suns rays, the architecture is striking and glows in shades of warm yellows, oranges and taupe. Modern yet earthy and clearly of a different plane the angular building seems rounded and flowing, a grand illusion that reflects the wines themselves. A roof top terrace and tasting lounge floats over 3 ha of Malbec vines with a view expanding into the horizon. A great selection of wine flights and wines by the glass are offered to sample while spacing out on the magical view. Simple yet classy nibblies of local nuts and olives are available to cleanse the palate while absorbing the spectacular scenery.
Today the slick facility produces 300,000 liters of cosmic juice per year. Galactic waves of Malbec, Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah, Tempranillo, Merlot, and Bordeaux style blends, take on the universe with a smooth and lustrous undulation. The line up is all domain bottled and mostly 100% varital blended excluding the Pleno, a Bordeaux style blend that to my mind is one of the best in Mendoza. All of the reds have been acquainted with both French and American oak from 3 to 15 months and all have seen another 8 months of bottle age before being released. You can find these wines in 23 US states, parts of Canada and Europe, Brazil and of course Argentina.
Three vineyards covering 110 ha of earth produce grapes for the polished operation. The largest cultivation in Lujan de Cujo blankets over 40 hectares, customary flood irrigation is practiced and the likes of Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Malbec can be found here. Up in the hills of Tupangato sixty five year old Tempranillo and Snagiovese vines grow with traditional flood irrigation quenching the thirst of the deep-rooted vines. The remaining vineyard in Maipu is dedicated to growing Malbec with innovative drip irrigation feeding the “primavera zona” raised vines, and a three hectare cultivation of Malbec encompasses the winery, for let’s say, systematic testing.
Abducted by superior wine aliens? Has Tempus Alba been to an unknown place and returned to its roots refined and full of enlightened ideas? A new-age project to develop the prized Malbec varital is perused at Tempus Alba. The experimental Malbec vines that surround the beautiful architecture are cultivated solely for this novel purpose. Over 350 clones have so far been studied and documented in the quest to find the 10 best genetic copies. Complete with a sate of the art laboratory where Malbec clones are closely monitored and studied, Tempus Alba searches for a genetically superior grape.
The winery and the people behind it are soft natured with an intelligent structured core. There is an unaltered natural flare, cut with sharp precision and brilliance to this winery and it wines alike. Tempus Alba is open to the public Monday to Friday for guided tours and tastings with knowledgeable bi-lingual staff. Visit this up and coming winery to stay on the cutting edge of the rising and trendy South American wine scene.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Drink To Be Drinkable
I was invited to my first informal tasting here in Mendoza. I stumbled on the event through an interesting character I befriended from one of Domaine Mumm’s neighboring Bodegas, Tempus Alba. It turns out he is party to a group that meets every Friday for a wine potluck of sorts. There were no rules or guidelines other than, everybody brought a bottle or two, and they feasted on vino till the wee hours of the morning.
Anxious to see what this tasting group was all about I ventured into the suburb of Godoy Cruz with a bottle of organic Granacia in hand. We arrived at the residence of a lovely young lady who is gracious enough to host this weekly event. In the safety and privacy of her home, about 15 winos gorged guilt free on a wine smorgasbord. The Buffet included well known brands and small boutique labels, of all different colors and prices. The one commonality that strung these wines together was that were all proudly Argentinean or even better Mendocino.
The group was quite the keen wine drinking bunch half of which worked in the wine industry in one way or another. A little nervous to be the foreign newbie of the group I found my nerves quickly calmed by an approachable lot who were happy to find new comers who shared their passion. There were bodega tour guides, sommeliers, wine enthusiasts and even an oenologist in attendance, which was a rare and exciting occasion.
Like a master of ceremonies, the crowd sat silently and wide eyed around the almighty oenologist hanging on his every word. He spoke of fancy grape varietals, soil types, irrigation methods and topography. He compared the horizontal lay of the Mendocino land with the steeply terraced slopes of Chile. He even answered tedious questions like, “How does global warming affect wine quality from vintage to vintage?” Which he politely answered with a humble and honest, “I don’t know”.
He also, spoke of a crown jewel, Mendoza’s most powerful weapon, the boundless sun.
Mendoza is a vast desert that is scorched with relentless rays and flooded with water from the melting snow caps of the Andes. The intense sun caramelizes the deep rich sticky sugars that building beneath the grapes skins. An oasis of old and twisted vines blankets this region with miles of sweet fruit waiting to be captured in the bottles of wine makers’ province wide. Drink to be drinkable.
Flood irrigation is the most common way of feeding the vines of Mendoza. Silver streams of life running through the vineyards, in vein like canals dug in the dry dirt. Vineyard workers allow their vines to feast once a month to avoid watery fruit concentration of the grape’s flesh. The modern method used by the state-of-the-art, money-is-no-concern operations is drip irrigation. Water is collected in a cistern and pumped through rubber tubes affixed along the wires that trellis the vines. Each tube excretes droplets through little holes slowly leeching controlled amounts of water into the soil.
Vino Tinto or tinted wine is the elixir of choice in this region with hectares of Malbec, Cabernet Sauvignon and other red varietals neatly trellised in rows as far as the eye can see. A back drop of impressive mountains stands against a blue sky as if a postcard was superimposed onto the horizon. The prized Malbec is the most common varital here and to no where else in the world. Originally a French blending grape not thought to be used on its own has surprised everybody. Like the Zinfandel of California rich, fruity and well balanced wines are being produced with a grape most thought not much of.
Needless to say the hang over was entirely worth it. I learnt that wine and the passion it embodies is a colorful and timeless event. Young, old, serious wine buff or there just to get drunk wine had brought us together. We all shared the intoxicating effects of famous beverage happily even through the suffering it brought us the next day. Drink wine to learn, love, laugh, cry and feel like crap the next day, but embrace its power to make you feel alive. Drink to be drinkable.
Anxious to see what this tasting group was all about I ventured into the suburb of Godoy Cruz with a bottle of organic Granacia in hand. We arrived at the residence of a lovely young lady who is gracious enough to host this weekly event. In the safety and privacy of her home, about 15 winos gorged guilt free on a wine smorgasbord. The Buffet included well known brands and small boutique labels, of all different colors and prices. The one commonality that strung these wines together was that were all proudly Argentinean or even better Mendocino.
The group was quite the keen wine drinking bunch half of which worked in the wine industry in one way or another. A little nervous to be the foreign newbie of the group I found my nerves quickly calmed by an approachable lot who were happy to find new comers who shared their passion. There were bodega tour guides, sommeliers, wine enthusiasts and even an oenologist in attendance, which was a rare and exciting occasion.
Like a master of ceremonies, the crowd sat silently and wide eyed around the almighty oenologist hanging on his every word. He spoke of fancy grape varietals, soil types, irrigation methods and topography. He compared the horizontal lay of the Mendocino land with the steeply terraced slopes of Chile. He even answered tedious questions like, “How does global warming affect wine quality from vintage to vintage?” Which he politely answered with a humble and honest, “I don’t know”.
He also, spoke of a crown jewel, Mendoza’s most powerful weapon, the boundless sun.
Mendoza is a vast desert that is scorched with relentless rays and flooded with water from the melting snow caps of the Andes. The intense sun caramelizes the deep rich sticky sugars that building beneath the grapes skins. An oasis of old and twisted vines blankets this region with miles of sweet fruit waiting to be captured in the bottles of wine makers’ province wide. Drink to be drinkable.
Flood irrigation is the most common way of feeding the vines of Mendoza. Silver streams of life running through the vineyards, in vein like canals dug in the dry dirt. Vineyard workers allow their vines to feast once a month to avoid watery fruit concentration of the grape’s flesh. The modern method used by the state-of-the-art, money-is-no-concern operations is drip irrigation. Water is collected in a cistern and pumped through rubber tubes affixed along the wires that trellis the vines. Each tube excretes droplets through little holes slowly leeching controlled amounts of water into the soil.
Vino Tinto or tinted wine is the elixir of choice in this region with hectares of Malbec, Cabernet Sauvignon and other red varietals neatly trellised in rows as far as the eye can see. A back drop of impressive mountains stands against a blue sky as if a postcard was superimposed onto the horizon. The prized Malbec is the most common varital here and to no where else in the world. Originally a French blending grape not thought to be used on its own has surprised everybody. Like the Zinfandel of California rich, fruity and well balanced wines are being produced with a grape most thought not much of.
Needless to say the hang over was entirely worth it. I learnt that wine and the passion it embodies is a colorful and timeless event. Young, old, serious wine buff or there just to get drunk wine had brought us together. We all shared the intoxicating effects of famous beverage happily even through the suffering it brought us the next day. Drink wine to learn, love, laugh, cry and feel like crap the next day, but embrace its power to make you feel alive. Drink to be drinkable.
Monday, October 8, 2007
A Psychadellic Grape Trip
Stuck at the bottom of the imagination with no way out I peer longingly into the garden I can’t reach. Lying with my face pressed against the small opening staring into the lush oasis. I try to work backwards through the answers I have already found hoping to discover some way out of this hole. I ask myself “If to have an expert palate is to be a person who practices the skill of tasting something they desire, who has become knowledgeable on the subject by refining their skill through passion and enthusiasm, how does one, acquire the skill of practicing all of these things?” I gaze at the words the creature has dropped in the flowers wishing I could reach them.
I can see a fabulous vineyard in the distance with amazing vines neatly stung into perfect rows. The most delicious looking fruit hangs in magnificent clusters from the vine’s canes. I stretch my arms through the hole craving a taste of the succulent globes. Surprisingly, on the other side of the door perspective has changed and the landscape still in perfect proportion is reachable. Reaching the desired grapes easily I try the amazing fruit, and soon after tasting the grapes I begin to feel a tingling throughout my entire body. I notice all of a sudden that I am shrinking. The grapes must possess some magical power and soon I am small enough to pass through the door.
Free at last to roam in the garden, I run to pick up the words. First finding the phrase, to acquire is to: and just as in the tunnel as soon as I touch it the words diminished into bite sized pieces. Get, gain, obtain and attain are scattered near by all of which I gather and swallow immediately. But, this time there isn’t a rumbling in my belly and a supernatural definition doesn’t appear in my head. Wandering through the beautiful garden I hope to find the white word creature again.
I begin to imagine that my brain houses a hookah smoking caterpillar who eats nothing but magic grapes from the vineyard in my head. He exhales looming questions that spiral into words spelt out in the smoke. I decide to take a chance and venture towards the enchanted vines hoping to find the mystic caterpillar. After searching for days among the rows of thoughts I find nothing, until one day I see smoke curling through the air. I run towards the fumes and to my amazement I see him puffing and munching away in the distance. There he is lounging in the shade of the magnificent foliage.
As soon as I reach him, before I can say anything he lets out a huge cloud of smoke that corkscrews its self into words that spell, “to attain or to obtain?” Suddenly he speaks, with words of smoke pouring out of him mimicking his speech, “Obtain is to: gain, take or find, and attain is to: reach, accomplish or conquer; however both obtain and attain mean to achieve”. He continues snacking and smoking away. “Would you like a grape?” he offers. “If I was you I would have a grape they are wonderful it’s all I eat” was his next remark.
Deciding to take the advice of the caterpillar I eat his grapes. Soon after swallowing his grapes I begin to feel strange and the hallucinations begin. I can see words but they are all gibberish. “Have another grape” the caterpillar says handing me a lush cluster. I take his grapes and scarf them down, the hallucinations become stronger, and this time I can make words out of the visions.
The caterpillar only speaks of his coveted grapes offering me more. In my delirious daze I gorge on magic grapes until words clearly present themselves “achieve is to: realize, understand, grasp or appreciate”. Suddenly the delusions make sense and it is obvious that to achieve an expert palate one must understand, grasp or appreciated the skill of tasting, testing, and trying the thing one has a hunger, craving or desire for. One gains knowledge of the subject by refining, judging and discriminating one’s findings with passion, excitement and enthusiasm crowning them with an expert palate. Content and full I drift into sleep curled up beneath the canopy of the grape vines.
I slip into a nightmare of the horrible blind assumptions I make when judging a wine with no understanding of what I’m about to taste. Relying on nothing but the frilly blurbs found on the backs of wine bottles in conjunction with complicated rating systems based on some wine critics assemblage of points. Suddenly, the caterpillar invades my slumber and he asks the smoke filled question “What is the best way to judge a wine?” He answers his own question almost immediately, as if he knows I don’t have an answer. “There are six key factors one should consider when contemplating a wine.” “These tips will help you navigate your way through your next wine adventure”, and without warning he disappears in a cloud of smoke.
I am ripped from my siesta and wake up somewhere between fantasy land and reality with darkness all around me. I am hung over and groggy from the psychadellic grape trip and the caterpillar is no where to be found. I get up and look around but can’t find anything recognizable, until I trip over something. It’s a wine bottle with a message in it. I fish the message out of the bottle and it reads “appearance, nose, palate, body, length and balance.” And on the back side of the note it reads “drink me because I’m drinkable”.
To be continued……..
I can see a fabulous vineyard in the distance with amazing vines neatly stung into perfect rows. The most delicious looking fruit hangs in magnificent clusters from the vine’s canes. I stretch my arms through the hole craving a taste of the succulent globes. Surprisingly, on the other side of the door perspective has changed and the landscape still in perfect proportion is reachable. Reaching the desired grapes easily I try the amazing fruit, and soon after tasting the grapes I begin to feel a tingling throughout my entire body. I notice all of a sudden that I am shrinking. The grapes must possess some magical power and soon I am small enough to pass through the door.
Free at last to roam in the garden, I run to pick up the words. First finding the phrase, to acquire is to: and just as in the tunnel as soon as I touch it the words diminished into bite sized pieces. Get, gain, obtain and attain are scattered near by all of which I gather and swallow immediately. But, this time there isn’t a rumbling in my belly and a supernatural definition doesn’t appear in my head. Wandering through the beautiful garden I hope to find the white word creature again.
I begin to imagine that my brain houses a hookah smoking caterpillar who eats nothing but magic grapes from the vineyard in my head. He exhales looming questions that spiral into words spelt out in the smoke. I decide to take a chance and venture towards the enchanted vines hoping to find the mystic caterpillar. After searching for days among the rows of thoughts I find nothing, until one day I see smoke curling through the air. I run towards the fumes and to my amazement I see him puffing and munching away in the distance. There he is lounging in the shade of the magnificent foliage.
As soon as I reach him, before I can say anything he lets out a huge cloud of smoke that corkscrews its self into words that spell, “to attain or to obtain?” Suddenly he speaks, with words of smoke pouring out of him mimicking his speech, “Obtain is to: gain, take or find, and attain is to: reach, accomplish or conquer; however both obtain and attain mean to achieve”. He continues snacking and smoking away. “Would you like a grape?” he offers. “If I was you I would have a grape they are wonderful it’s all I eat” was his next remark.
Deciding to take the advice of the caterpillar I eat his grapes. Soon after swallowing his grapes I begin to feel strange and the hallucinations begin. I can see words but they are all gibberish. “Have another grape” the caterpillar says handing me a lush cluster. I take his grapes and scarf them down, the hallucinations become stronger, and this time I can make words out of the visions.
The caterpillar only speaks of his coveted grapes offering me more. In my delirious daze I gorge on magic grapes until words clearly present themselves “achieve is to: realize, understand, grasp or appreciate”. Suddenly the delusions make sense and it is obvious that to achieve an expert palate one must understand, grasp or appreciated the skill of tasting, testing, and trying the thing one has a hunger, craving or desire for. One gains knowledge of the subject by refining, judging and discriminating one’s findings with passion, excitement and enthusiasm crowning them with an expert palate. Content and full I drift into sleep curled up beneath the canopy of the grape vines.
I slip into a nightmare of the horrible blind assumptions I make when judging a wine with no understanding of what I’m about to taste. Relying on nothing but the frilly blurbs found on the backs of wine bottles in conjunction with complicated rating systems based on some wine critics assemblage of points. Suddenly, the caterpillar invades my slumber and he asks the smoke filled question “What is the best way to judge a wine?” He answers his own question almost immediately, as if he knows I don’t have an answer. “There are six key factors one should consider when contemplating a wine.” “These tips will help you navigate your way through your next wine adventure”, and without warning he disappears in a cloud of smoke.
I am ripped from my siesta and wake up somewhere between fantasy land and reality with darkness all around me. I am hung over and groggy from the psychadellic grape trip and the caterpillar is no where to be found. I get up and look around but can’t find anything recognizable, until I trip over something. It’s a wine bottle with a message in it. I fish the message out of the bottle and it reads “appearance, nose, palate, body, length and balance.” And on the back side of the note it reads “drink me because I’m drinkable”.
To be continued……..
Monday, September 24, 2007
El Cerno
http://mendozavino.blogspot.com/We sneakily wandered onto the property of El Cerno Artisan Bodega to snoop on our soon to be neighbors. We were quickly spotted by Christian as he drove up the gravel driveway. He pulled up beside us and greeted us in English, noticing we were tourists-like looking for, none other than, a tour. He parked his beater of a car and asked us to wait a moment while he searched the Bodega for his buddy Pedro, whom I assume was meant to be on the look out for meandering tourists. We stood at the back of the bodega and waited while his fruitless echoes bounced around the corridors of the cement vats. Pedro! Pedro!
Pedro-less, Christian agreed to conduct the tour solo, he lead us to the front of the winery where we discovered a confused group of sightseers who were waiting to be guided through the wonders of wine making as well. A Dutch couple and two young glob trotting backpackers joined us. We all happily shelled out the menial fee of 15 pesos per person and we began.
Christian started by telling us that Cerno means heart wood, the hardest most center part of a tree that has been wrapped in layers of age. He brought our attention to the opposing entry of the small and rustic bodega and explained that the grand doors were salvaged, by the owners, from an old bank in Buenos Aires.
The two ornate wooden doors stood proud and tall, slightly ajar casting light into the dark and narrow passage where small gate like valves lined the concrete fermentors walls at about knee height. Christian explained that behind the thick concrete walls were the epoxy lined cement tanks where grapes were transformed into a magical liquid. Describing the wine maker’s, preferred method of pumping the clear sweet fermenting juice over the dense mash of skins and pips every six hours for two days to extract the desired colors, aromas and tannins before raking of the clear wine leaving the deflated skins behind.
The smell of over sweet grape juice and wet pavement filled the air, and we proceed to the next portion of the expedition. “Beneath us is the cellar or cava in Spanish” he told us as he escorted the group down a steep flight of stairs that were slick with condensation. The cellar is exactly what you would imagine a wine cellar to look, smell and feel like. Dark, dank and dimly lit in places, low ceilings, with heavy stone archways lead you from each damp cool room to the next. Oak barrels marked by numbers staked in a corner to be forgotten until the winemaker deems them ready. Other small cavernous closet like spaces were filled with unlabeled bottles locked behind heavy iron bars to age further.
Christian gathered the group at the furthest end of the dungeon, where he mindfully answered the crowd’s questions. He explained that an oak barrel infuses its flavor into wine for up to three years, and that El Cerno used both American and French oak. He told us of barrique makers who were developing square barrels for easier stacking, and taught us the term micro-oxygenation, the process where each barrel bleeds tiny amounts of air into the aging wine morphing the drink into something divine.
At the other end of the cellar Christian informed us of all the wines El Cerno proudly releases and how they were tiered. The Philosopher their most limited bottle, only 900 released this vintage, is a meritage of the best grapes from the best vineyards, “and when you drink it you become a philosopher of course” chuckled Christian. Wyana, El Cerno’s version of a vino joven, or young wine which was a bright and fruity blend meant to be poured down your gullet within the year and line of “vino roble” or oak aged varietal wines in Malbec, Cabernet Sauvignon and Syrah. He showed us how each bottle is labeled by hand with some primitive looking apparatus by two ladies who sit in the darkness and eyeballed the placement of each label.
He directed the group back upstairs to the tasting hall and wine shop. A large barn like room with hand crafted chunky wooden furniture lacquered in a honey glisten. A grand wine alter displayed all the wines of El Cerno, and charming hand painted plaques featuring common descriptors adorned the wall behind it. He explained the tasting process while demonstrating it himself. He then handed out two samples to each person.
“In the big glass I’ve poured you cabernet sauvignon, and in the little one I’ve poured Malbec” he told us while swirling his wine into a purple whirlpool. He inhaled the vapors that were released from the centrifugal force, and exhaled words describing his sensations. “Plum and red fruit are gifts from the sacrificial grape, chocolate and leather are given to us for our patience during the aging process” he explained.
You were easily captivated by his deep Antonio Banderas voice, and shinny shoulder length locks. His eyes were closed and he was swept up in a sensory moment. Many people have been on this journey with Christian, and still I felt caught in his moment. Time had stopped, except for us. I was entirely in his now. I was inspired and intrigued and found not only him but the entire operation fascinating.
Elated to learn that our neighbors had a porthole to another world, I gladly obliged when they offered me a second drink. I have been over there since seeking enlightenment from the intoxicating beverage it’s self. I have converted and my faith is growing stronger. Like a Zen master I am beginning to understand the mantra, living in the now. There is a place where stillness exists, and it is levitating as an invisible force in the space between you and the wine in your glass. You can find your perfect self here. Peace in wine is my new peace of mind.
Pedro-less, Christian agreed to conduct the tour solo, he lead us to the front of the winery where we discovered a confused group of sightseers who were waiting to be guided through the wonders of wine making as well. A Dutch couple and two young glob trotting backpackers joined us. We all happily shelled out the menial fee of 15 pesos per person and we began.
Christian started by telling us that Cerno means heart wood, the hardest most center part of a tree that has been wrapped in layers of age. He brought our attention to the opposing entry of the small and rustic bodega and explained that the grand doors were salvaged, by the owners, from an old bank in Buenos Aires.
The two ornate wooden doors stood proud and tall, slightly ajar casting light into the dark and narrow passage where small gate like valves lined the concrete fermentors walls at about knee height. Christian explained that behind the thick concrete walls were the epoxy lined cement tanks where grapes were transformed into a magical liquid. Describing the wine maker’s, preferred method of pumping the clear sweet fermenting juice over the dense mash of skins and pips every six hours for two days to extract the desired colors, aromas and tannins before raking of the clear wine leaving the deflated skins behind.
The smell of over sweet grape juice and wet pavement filled the air, and we proceed to the next portion of the expedition. “Beneath us is the cellar or cava in Spanish” he told us as he escorted the group down a steep flight of stairs that were slick with condensation. The cellar is exactly what you would imagine a wine cellar to look, smell and feel like. Dark, dank and dimly lit in places, low ceilings, with heavy stone archways lead you from each damp cool room to the next. Oak barrels marked by numbers staked in a corner to be forgotten until the winemaker deems them ready. Other small cavernous closet like spaces were filled with unlabeled bottles locked behind heavy iron bars to age further.
Christian gathered the group at the furthest end of the dungeon, where he mindfully answered the crowd’s questions. He explained that an oak barrel infuses its flavor into wine for up to three years, and that El Cerno used both American and French oak. He told us of barrique makers who were developing square barrels for easier stacking, and taught us the term micro-oxygenation, the process where each barrel bleeds tiny amounts of air into the aging wine morphing the drink into something divine.
At the other end of the cellar Christian informed us of all the wines El Cerno proudly releases and how they were tiered. The Philosopher their most limited bottle, only 900 released this vintage, is a meritage of the best grapes from the best vineyards, “and when you drink it you become a philosopher of course” chuckled Christian. Wyana, El Cerno’s version of a vino joven, or young wine which was a bright and fruity blend meant to be poured down your gullet within the year and line of “vino roble” or oak aged varietal wines in Malbec, Cabernet Sauvignon and Syrah. He showed us how each bottle is labeled by hand with some primitive looking apparatus by two ladies who sit in the darkness and eyeballed the placement of each label.
He directed the group back upstairs to the tasting hall and wine shop. A large barn like room with hand crafted chunky wooden furniture lacquered in a honey glisten. A grand wine alter displayed all the wines of El Cerno, and charming hand painted plaques featuring common descriptors adorned the wall behind it. He explained the tasting process while demonstrating it himself. He then handed out two samples to each person.
“In the big glass I’ve poured you cabernet sauvignon, and in the little one I’ve poured Malbec” he told us while swirling his wine into a purple whirlpool. He inhaled the vapors that were released from the centrifugal force, and exhaled words describing his sensations. “Plum and red fruit are gifts from the sacrificial grape, chocolate and leather are given to us for our patience during the aging process” he explained.
You were easily captivated by his deep Antonio Banderas voice, and shinny shoulder length locks. His eyes were closed and he was swept up in a sensory moment. Many people have been on this journey with Christian, and still I felt caught in his moment. Time had stopped, except for us. I was entirely in his now. I was inspired and intrigued and found not only him but the entire operation fascinating.
Elated to learn that our neighbors had a porthole to another world, I gladly obliged when they offered me a second drink. I have been over there since seeking enlightenment from the intoxicating beverage it’s self. I have converted and my faith is growing stronger. Like a Zen master I am beginning to understand the mantra, living in the now. There is a place where stillness exists, and it is levitating as an invisible force in the space between you and the wine in your glass. You can find your perfect self here. Peace in wine is my new peace of mind.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Chasing the Wine Rabbit
As wine drinker’s we seek to experience enlightening new flavors, labels and pairings, but we are continuously plagued with ongoing wine questions. How do we know if what we are experiencing is divine insight into the world of wine or just a hoax an opinion that holds no truth? We hear talk of experts with godly palates, and we ask ourselves, what is an expert palate anyways and how do you acquire one? We throw philosophical wine questions out into the wine universe and wait for Dionysus and Bacchus to miraculously throw something back. A wine muse has appeared and it challenges us to find our own answers.
Sinking into cerebral reality to look for a resolution, in the dark space behind the eyes where anything is possible. A painted landscape of fabulous green presents it’s self. We rest beneath a huge tree to ponder our queries, and just as the first question escapes our lips it is interrupted by a frantic flurry of words scurrying past us in ball of illegible white letters. Letting our minds chase the frenzied orb it quickly disappears down a black hole escaping deeper in the subconscious. Hesitating for a moment, but feeling we have no choice we jumped in after it.
Falling deep into the depths of the mind we can see the word creature spinning in the distance. We yell our question into the darkness “What is an expert palate anyways?”, and to our surprise the little ball starts to throw words back. “Expert” and “palate” zoom by. Totally confused we scream “What is an expert”, and before we can say anything words are being whipped towards us: a specialist, an authority, a professional, or a connoisseur. The words stop for a second, but another group comes barreling through the air: to be practiced, skilled and knowledgeable.
Out of sheer reflex we grab the rocketed words that are whizzing by us. The moment we touch them they shrink into the palm of our hands, and for some unknown reason we can’t resist the urge to swallow them. Suddenly there is a gurgling in the pit of our stomachs a churning; the words are doing summersaults in our bellies. Like we have ingested a magic word pill a definition takes shape in the mind. An expert is a person who practices a skill to gain knowledge in which he/she gains the title of specialist, professional or connoisseur making them an authority on the subject.
Starting to understand this little word creature’s game we yell out its other word in question form “what is a palate?” Groups of words start flying in our direction: to have a taste for, to have an appetite for. Still descending into an abyss we are not satisfied and we pressure the creature to expand his word chain. “What does it mean to taste?” We shout at the wordy whirlwind spiraling in the void. A series of words are hurled through the air: to try, test or sample, quickly proceeded by the words: to discriminate, refine and pass judgment.
Snatching the words from the air and gulping them down as quickly as possible we reply “What does it mean to have an appetite for?” Without delay words are being flung into the cosmos: to hunger, crave or desire, which are followed by a second throng of remarks: to have passion, excitement or enthusiasm. Eating these words just a readily as the others, the bubbling begins. We can feel the words arranging themselves in our core, and just like the time before a definition springs into our heads. To have a plate is to taste, test or try something you have an appetite, hunger, or desire for, and to refine, judge and discriminate your findings with passion, excitement and enthusiasm.
Letting out a huge belch the thing that has released its self from our bodies is now floating in front of us, glowing like a neon sign spelling out the phrase. “Therefore; to have an expert palate is to be a person who practices the skill of tasting, testing and trying something they hunger, crave and desire who has gained knowledge by refining, judging and discriminating their skill with passion, excitement and enthusiasm making them an authority on the subject.”
Thud! We come to a stop and are abruptly met with a dead end. Grabbing the definition we realize the word creature is gone. Stuck at the bottom of a subliminal tunnel, we search for a way out. We find a tiny knob attached to a tiny door. Twisting the knob carefully and slowly the door cracks open. Sunlight comes flooding in exposing a beautiful garden on the other side. We can see the word entity getting away, dashing through the flowery fields. We yell after but it doesn’t stop.
We shout at it “how do you acquire an expert palate?”, but the word the creature disappears from sight shedding words on his way. We can see the words lying amidst the flowers beyond our reach. Feeling trapped we hold onto the definition tightly reading it over and over again. If we can only free ourselves of this pit we could discover how to acquire the skill of practicing tasting, testing and trying the wines in which we hunger, crave and desire filling us with refined knowledge deeming us an authority on the subject. Our expert palates are somewhere growing in the garden we feel we can’t reach.
Expressive words and frilly blurbs are impressive vocabularies that can tell amazing stories and discouragingly dance around questions. If you really want to taste wine like an “expert” you have to learn to experience the smells and flavors objectively and separately. I have smelt and tasted many a fabulous wine that to my mind smells and tastes of: cut grass, lemon rind and briny sea air, not a very appealing sounding palate but quite the impressive string of words. I have also tasted many simple unmemorable wines that smell of red berries, cotton candy and hint of vanilla, much more appealing terminology.
Be clear, decisive and isolate the first smells and flavors that pop into your head; it’s not about liking the descriptors, knowing if they are right or wrong, or how many other people smell the same thing. If you smell canned peas, gasoline or barnyard you aren’t the first and you won’t be the last, all of these are common descriptors used frequently by real “experts”. Tasting a glass of wine like an expert is like appreciating a harmony that resonates into a beautiful tune even if you don’t like the song. Like a choir of tastes and smells it’s about how well they sing together in a glass
To be continued……..
Sinking into cerebral reality to look for a resolution, in the dark space behind the eyes where anything is possible. A painted landscape of fabulous green presents it’s self. We rest beneath a huge tree to ponder our queries, and just as the first question escapes our lips it is interrupted by a frantic flurry of words scurrying past us in ball of illegible white letters. Letting our minds chase the frenzied orb it quickly disappears down a black hole escaping deeper in the subconscious. Hesitating for a moment, but feeling we have no choice we jumped in after it.
Falling deep into the depths of the mind we can see the word creature spinning in the distance. We yell our question into the darkness “What is an expert palate anyways?”, and to our surprise the little ball starts to throw words back. “Expert” and “palate” zoom by. Totally confused we scream “What is an expert”, and before we can say anything words are being whipped towards us: a specialist, an authority, a professional, or a connoisseur. The words stop for a second, but another group comes barreling through the air: to be practiced, skilled and knowledgeable.
Out of sheer reflex we grab the rocketed words that are whizzing by us. The moment we touch them they shrink into the palm of our hands, and for some unknown reason we can’t resist the urge to swallow them. Suddenly there is a gurgling in the pit of our stomachs a churning; the words are doing summersaults in our bellies. Like we have ingested a magic word pill a definition takes shape in the mind. An expert is a person who practices a skill to gain knowledge in which he/she gains the title of specialist, professional or connoisseur making them an authority on the subject.
Starting to understand this little word creature’s game we yell out its other word in question form “what is a palate?” Groups of words start flying in our direction: to have a taste for, to have an appetite for. Still descending into an abyss we are not satisfied and we pressure the creature to expand his word chain. “What does it mean to taste?” We shout at the wordy whirlwind spiraling in the void. A series of words are hurled through the air: to try, test or sample, quickly proceeded by the words: to discriminate, refine and pass judgment.
Snatching the words from the air and gulping them down as quickly as possible we reply “What does it mean to have an appetite for?” Without delay words are being flung into the cosmos: to hunger, crave or desire, which are followed by a second throng of remarks: to have passion, excitement or enthusiasm. Eating these words just a readily as the others, the bubbling begins. We can feel the words arranging themselves in our core, and just like the time before a definition springs into our heads. To have a plate is to taste, test or try something you have an appetite, hunger, or desire for, and to refine, judge and discriminate your findings with passion, excitement and enthusiasm.
Letting out a huge belch the thing that has released its self from our bodies is now floating in front of us, glowing like a neon sign spelling out the phrase. “Therefore; to have an expert palate is to be a person who practices the skill of tasting, testing and trying something they hunger, crave and desire who has gained knowledge by refining, judging and discriminating their skill with passion, excitement and enthusiasm making them an authority on the subject.”
Thud! We come to a stop and are abruptly met with a dead end. Grabbing the definition we realize the word creature is gone. Stuck at the bottom of a subliminal tunnel, we search for a way out. We find a tiny knob attached to a tiny door. Twisting the knob carefully and slowly the door cracks open. Sunlight comes flooding in exposing a beautiful garden on the other side. We can see the word entity getting away, dashing through the flowery fields. We yell after but it doesn’t stop.
We shout at it “how do you acquire an expert palate?”, but the word the creature disappears from sight shedding words on his way. We can see the words lying amidst the flowers beyond our reach. Feeling trapped we hold onto the definition tightly reading it over and over again. If we can only free ourselves of this pit we could discover how to acquire the skill of practicing tasting, testing and trying the wines in which we hunger, crave and desire filling us with refined knowledge deeming us an authority on the subject. Our expert palates are somewhere growing in the garden we feel we can’t reach.
Expressive words and frilly blurbs are impressive vocabularies that can tell amazing stories and discouragingly dance around questions. If you really want to taste wine like an “expert” you have to learn to experience the smells and flavors objectively and separately. I have smelt and tasted many a fabulous wine that to my mind smells and tastes of: cut grass, lemon rind and briny sea air, not a very appealing sounding palate but quite the impressive string of words. I have also tasted many simple unmemorable wines that smell of red berries, cotton candy and hint of vanilla, much more appealing terminology.
Be clear, decisive and isolate the first smells and flavors that pop into your head; it’s not about liking the descriptors, knowing if they are right or wrong, or how many other people smell the same thing. If you smell canned peas, gasoline or barnyard you aren’t the first and you won’t be the last, all of these are common descriptors used frequently by real “experts”. Tasting a glass of wine like an expert is like appreciating a harmony that resonates into a beautiful tune even if you don’t like the song. Like a choir of tastes and smells it’s about how well they sing together in a glass
To be continued……..
Sunday, September 2, 2007
An Existential Wine Crisis
I’ve been in Argentina, more specifically BA for over a week and my wine drinking, tasting and sniffing has been slowed, if not halted all together by my evil palate killing cold. Even so my wine knowledge and so called “expert palate” has been rigorously questioned and put to the test by friends and family members alike. On-the-spot, gun-to-your-head, so what is this? What kind of quality is it? And can you really tell where it’s forms. You know, the usual interrogation a sommelier is forced to endure under any wine involved circumstance, even when dying of the flu and so plugged up they can barley breath.
The “traditional wine world” skeptics unite and gather around unsuspecting sommeliers with vicious intent to trip them up and prove that this whole wine expert stuff is all a bunch of snobbery designed to extract money from wine fools. Wordy wine lingo, elaborate cork popping rituals, and almost illegible bottle labels are only adding to their suspicions.
Are these skeptics right? Is my wine education nothing but a sham? What is an expert palate anyways? How do you acquire one? Is it even possible to acquire such a skill? Do you have to be born with this magical, and for some fictitious gift? Is it something that can be developed over time, by intensely pondering and over analyzing every drop to pass through your lips? Should wine even be drunk with such scrutiny, or are we missing out on the true essence of wine by simply forgetting to drink it?
On top of all these existential wine questions there have been some great debates stirring about the household as of late, from screw caps and wine quality to the rapidly changing trends in wine. Most have been accompanied, like any good wine debate, by a few bottles of the loaded elixir it’s self.
We judge each sip as if gossiping over the headlines of any good rag mag. Whether it’s the trashy Britney Spears tetra packaged plunk for 2 pesos “Will Britney Make a Career Come Back or Has She Gone Too Far?”, the wild Lindsey Lohan fruit bomb full of sassy spice “Lynsey Out of Control Partying Again! How Much More Can Her Fans Take?” or the mature likes of the timeless sophistication and subtlety of Sophia Lauren “How much
Plastic Surgery Has Sophia Really Had? Famed Hollywood Doctor Tells All!” We all have a wonderfully biased opinion. I guess the question is what’s your flavor? If you can’t choose who you love does love then choose you?
All these questions are spiraling around my foggy and congested head. I don’t think I will ever be able to fully commit to an answer to any of these luring questions. Like love, lust and passion it’s all in the eye of the beholder. For some it’s merely about finding the flavor of the month, and for others it’s a quest to uncover a divine concoction they can relish for years to come. This moving wine target seems to be where the intrigue begins, that most often climaxes into a love affair you can’t ignore.
The “traditional wine world” skeptics unite and gather around unsuspecting sommeliers with vicious intent to trip them up and prove that this whole wine expert stuff is all a bunch of snobbery designed to extract money from wine fools. Wordy wine lingo, elaborate cork popping rituals, and almost illegible bottle labels are only adding to their suspicions.
Are these skeptics right? Is my wine education nothing but a sham? What is an expert palate anyways? How do you acquire one? Is it even possible to acquire such a skill? Do you have to be born with this magical, and for some fictitious gift? Is it something that can be developed over time, by intensely pondering and over analyzing every drop to pass through your lips? Should wine even be drunk with such scrutiny, or are we missing out on the true essence of wine by simply forgetting to drink it?
On top of all these existential wine questions there have been some great debates stirring about the household as of late, from screw caps and wine quality to the rapidly changing trends in wine. Most have been accompanied, like any good wine debate, by a few bottles of the loaded elixir it’s self.
We judge each sip as if gossiping over the headlines of any good rag mag. Whether it’s the trashy Britney Spears tetra packaged plunk for 2 pesos “Will Britney Make a Career Come Back or Has She Gone Too Far?”, the wild Lindsey Lohan fruit bomb full of sassy spice “Lynsey Out of Control Partying Again! How Much More Can Her Fans Take?” or the mature likes of the timeless sophistication and subtlety of Sophia Lauren “How much
Plastic Surgery Has Sophia Really Had? Famed Hollywood Doctor Tells All!” We all have a wonderfully biased opinion. I guess the question is what’s your flavor? If you can’t choose who you love does love then choose you?
All these questions are spiraling around my foggy and congested head. I don’t think I will ever be able to fully commit to an answer to any of these luring questions. Like love, lust and passion it’s all in the eye of the beholder. For some it’s merely about finding the flavor of the month, and for others it’s a quest to uncover a divine concoction they can relish for years to come. This moving wine target seems to be where the intrigue begins, that most often climaxes into a love affair you can’t ignore.
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