“That’s a lot of wine talk I hear”
Well, yes, it happened. The husband and I spend a lovely afternoon in a wine loft, watching passers-by get on with their daily life, sampling wines, eating artisan nibbles and specially selected savoury biscuits.
On the morning of said glorious day, we had woken up in a nautically themed B&B, overlooking a rather profitable harbour, raking in around £43.6 million in fish and seafood in a year, while presenting itself as the picture postcard perfect English seaside town harbour.
The sun was making an appearance every now and then through white fluffy clouds, seagulls seem to be occupied by vocal training for an upcoming concert, the fresh sea air filled our nostrils. I guess with that much fish and seafood landing on those shores, the air had a certain, how do you say… je ne sais quoi about it.
We had just polished off a glass of 2021 Austrian Riesling and concluded that we both actually really like a Riesling. And somehow, we were both a bit surprised by our deduction. Puzzled we stared into the now empty glasses. This one was a rather relaxed number, serving full ripe melon, freshly cut green grass and ripe peach, yet with an acidity simply jumping from the glass, it was perfection. It was fresh, juicy and until a few seconds ago, had been occupying our glassware.
“What’s next?” the husband asked handing me the menu and pulling me back into reality. I was particularly keen on trying the wine printed just below our relaxed Austrian. “Let’s stay in the same country and have a Grüner Veltliner”, I answered. The words Grüner and Veltliner were actually harder to pronounce then I expected, or so it appeared, as I struggled to say them without sounding odd and somewhat foreign. Yes, I should be able to speak both German and English without too many issues, but speaking English peppered with German words ain’t easy for this one… What came out of my mouth sounded ok, but instantly brought back a rather sore memory:
Cue “Musical ineffable transcendence” it’s time for a flashback:
We’re in a café in Vienna and I’m in the queue to order a coffee. The Viking is queuing with me.
Apart from our mutual affection or cider and beer, we have shared this love for caffeine for a long time. This seems to amuse the husband. Ask him next time, he’ll tell you the story the three of us order 2 beers and 2 coffees with the waitress being rather perplexed by the number of people versus the number of drinks requested.
Anyway, back in the coffee shop: I order in German. The Viking orders in Germani. The person behind the counter replies in German, as expected, we are in Vienna after all, but not to me. Hang on, it appears there is some confusion here. He only speaks German with the Viking, and any information directed at me is in English with a rather thick Austrian accent…
The audacity! The impudence! The Nerve!
Yeah, I know, right? I have been speaking this language from birth, and surely my German isn’t to hard to understand? If I can understand the Austrian German, surely, they can understand German German?ii
Cue “Musical ineffable transcendence” back to the wine loft.
I had heard much about the infamous grape often shorten to Grüner, i.e. green (yup, go figure) and really wanted to know if I would like it. It had been described to me along the lines of “green, refreshing and salad like, with a spicy finish like eating raw rocket sprinkled with lime juice”. Sounds almost healthy – where do I sign up?!
The slightly crumpled paper menu on the clipboard threw words like “exotic hints”, “ripe pear” and “grapefruit” at us, promising a “zippy finish”. Sold on the zippy.
The owner came around to take our order. “I would recommend that one”, he said, “it’s rather nice”. Well, that’s settled then.
By now, my journey into wine was in it’s fourth month, and I was fully embracing the unknown. I had listened to podcasts, spoke with wine drinkers, read articles and books and was ready to try the stuff myself.
The glasses arrived alongside a plate of yet more specially selected artisan nibbles.
We had both been looking forward to this short trip away, but hadn’t quite anticipated were we ended up. We’d been talking about reading in a pub beer garden or by the sea front drinking cask ales and ciders and letting the world spin around its axes, eating fish and chips and ale pies.
Yet, it appeared that we had, unknowingly, booked ourselves onto a foodie holiday, filled with a seven-course dinner last night, a three-course breakfast cooked by a French master of cuisine, and now the aforementioned artisan nibbles. The food was fresh, beautifully prepared and so good, that it was almost impossible not finish the plates. And we had already chosen and booked our three-course breakfast for the next day. Porridge with fresh blueberries and home-made elderflower syrup for me to start with please! Or, maybe the almond yogurt with chia seeds, fresh pear and berry compote? Doubt is setting in on the foodie front…
“What do you think?” I sniffed the liquid in my glass and looked at the husband. “Pairs rather well with this”, I said after I finished chewing, pointing the tip of my knife at about three o’clock on the plate of snacks between us.
The 2022 Grüner was rather nice. Herbaceous yet lemony, complex, smooth ripe pear and citrus fruits, kale bitterness with just a kiss of melon and grapefruit in the finish. Well, I also like Grüner Veltliner then, it seems. Am I turning into an acid hound when it comes to wine?
The husband, although not disliking the liquid, wasn’t to fussed about yet another acid forward white and suggested we should look at the reds. Downcast, I agreed. I had already eyed an Albariño. Patience young grasshopper.
The husband selected a Chianti Classico Riserva. A glance at the wine list promised a “top-end, elegant and well balanced” wine. All I could think off was Anthony Hopkins sucking air through his teeth… fava beans anyone?
When our glasses arrived, the husband and owner of the wine bar commenced a conversation about the rustic nature so often associated with Chianti.
And there it was, one of those wine descriptors thrown around.
“When you say rustic? What do you mean?” I asked while swirling my glass, watching the deep purple red liquid, inhaling the aromas, “like rough or not rounded? More traditional? Unfinished?” “Well, no, not really, more like being part of a certain way of life” the owner responded vague, turning his attention back to the husband, who seemed to know what was meant by that comment.
Clearly, not yet part of the initiated, I picked up my phone and looked up Chianti.
One of Italy’s well known and loved red wines, Chianti is made from 75-100% Sangiovese grapes. Those in turn have flavours of cherry, roasted tomato, oregano, sweet balsamic and espresso. Medium to high tannins and medium to high acidity combine in a medium to full bodied wineiii.
As it turns out, I was actually looking at, and drinking a wine which was confused about what it actually was: a flavoursome meal, with a short bitter kick to finish. I let the liquid warm up in my mouth. This taste really, really good, but is it rustic?
Another click away and I had discovered that Oxford’s Learner’s Dictionary describes rustic as “[…] typical of the country or of country people; simple […]”iv. I’ve only been to Italy twice maybe three times, still in diapers on the majority of those trips, so I don’t really have much knowledge of the country to form an opinion, but simple?! No, this wine didn’t appear to be simple. Unless, they mean simple as in unadulterated, just-as-it-is?!
It was certain now, rustic was one of those wine descriptors, commonly accepted by those in the know. Uttered by wine enthusiasts across the globe, yet somehow unavailable to me just yet.
The wine reminded me of eating cherries on long summer walks along dirty gravel roads, vanilla ice cream on burnt toast, bowls of strawberries and with balsamic vinegar. Was this rustic?
I was still pondering said rusticity of the light red brown liquid in my glass, when the husband handed me the wine list. “What shall we try next?” I wasn’t ready yet. “Eh?? Shall we ask for a recommendation?” I said, still feeling the faint sting of my previous conversational exclusion regarding the rustic nature of a wine.
There was a wine on the list I was keen on trying, a 2021 Zweigelt, but I wasn’t quite ready for that yet. That damn rustic Italian was till occupying my mind. And, yes, I honestly don’t know what possessed me that day – I was hellbent on drinking Austrian wines by the English seaside apparently.
“I can recommend the 2019 Syrah” the owner offered. Yes, Syrah, I know the grape and I do love the spicy, dusty nature they seem to bring. Two glasses of the Syrah my good man.
I must have formed core memories of walking along dusty roads in the summer as a child, as I really, and I mean really, like this quality in a wine.
When the Syrah arrived, I mentioned that I was interested in trying the Zweigelt later on, but that I wasn’t too sure if the husband would like it as the wine list recommended it for Pinot Noir lovers, which he isn’t. “It’s good, worth trying”, the owner said, “you can always order something else afterwards and it is fun trying different things”. Fair enough, they wouldn’t have a wine by the glass if they didn’t think it would sell, but where was the wine talk here?
We had been in the shop for a few hours now, drinking, chatting and eating, and had seen a few other customers come in, stay for a glass or two, buy a bottle and leave, so as far as the customer base went, we were part of the furniture for the afternoon, so schmooze me godammit. Maybe we had already overstayed our welcome, or maybe my quest for a definition of rustic had been too much… one can only ponder the world.
The wine that turned up was actually a blend of Garnacha, Cariñena and Syrah – fresh acidity, smoky leather, plums and blackcurrants, balanced by beautiful spiciness, recalling that dusty earthy road yet again.
Content, for our own individual reasons, we both settled for another plate of artisan nibbles while discussing what we had tasted so far. “That’s a lot of wine talk I hear” said a voice from behind us. It was the other guy working in the wine shop. “Yeah, my wife is a certified pommelier so she gets the whole pulling flavours out of liquids” the husband acknowledged.
Damn right, I was one. Temporarily ignoring the conversation that started, I mentally combed through my cider flavours, aromas and descriptors archive. Yes, that obscure, undefinable rustic featured there too, yet still, I was unable to put my finger on it.
“I am actually interested in the Zweigelt – have you had it?” I tried again.
“Oh yeah, great if you love Pinot Noir – it’s rather light and fruity, with light tannins and residual spice. I’d also recommend the 2020 Pinot Noir”
I glanced at the husband. Knowing me, he ordered two glasses.
We had no plans. We could spend our day as we pleased. Our only commitment was our dinner booking at yet another foody haunt – a French restaurant which had only opened the previous week, which came highly recommended. So highly recommend that we could only get a table during their last slot of the night… at 20:45…
The Zweigelt arrived, and sometime later the Pinot Noir arrived. Both were indeed excellent.
Red berries, notes of earth, tart cherry acidity, grippy tannins, all packed in a medium bodied fun, d incredibly juicy red, and, a medium bodied, refreshing lemony light, beautifully balanced and rounded red, serving soft tannins, boosting with red berries and oaky character.
Before we left, we bought a bottle of the Grüner Veltliner, a few more reds the husband selected, and an orange wine from Romania.
Well, yes, it happened. The husband and I spent a lovely afternoon in a wine loft, watching passers-by get on with their daily life, sampling wines, eating artisan nibbles and specially selected savoury biscuits. Expecting real ale and fish and chips? Try artisan nibbles and a glass of Chinati, the rustic kind.
So I guess, life has a way of suprising you when you least expect it. And I’m here for that – all the way.
Chin Chin
xxx
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