everyday pleasures

Every day I like wine more

I never had a helmet to ride a bicycle, and I knew about the existence of shoulder and elbow pads when I had grown a beard; ours was bareback, strong children and tanned by the sun and scratches. We responded better and recovered from the scraped knees just a minute before the next fall.

In my house, both in Spain and in Mexico, soft drinks were prohibited, Mom considered those concoctions unhealthy; in return, he authorized us a small glass of wine diluted with sugar water, a sweet soda that hid the astringency and left little room for educated tasting, it was simply a thirst quencher, a substitute for flavored water, a smooth sangria that brought you closer to dad’s tastes and made you feel part of the table, it was like a safe conduct to participate in the conversation. I have liked wine for as long as I can remember.

I had some grape harvests in the town and tread grapes, taste the musts, wait patiently for the new wine to come out and welcome it before the festivities, for Saint Martin, with the chestnuts, listen to the verdict of the first tastings from the old people, that yes quarrelsome, that yes round, fruity, acid, and also, see their faces of disgust and talk about lazy or ungraceful. Well, from those powders, these muds. Today I like wine and I have developed a hobby that I also fed with a course, several tastings and many bottles paid for and enjoyed throughout my days.

That is why, because I like wine, I dare to say that there is glamor in a bottle, there may even be art, but there is also a high degree of snobbery that leads us to cling to the value of the label much further than the content. Of the bottle. I recognize that there are very superior noses, with the knowledge and experience to make a wonderful description of a certain wine, always with a degree of subjectivity, but they end up agreeing and almost unanimously designating the best. The truth is, I don’t give much, although I have enough verb to send me a good spoken tasting. This is due more to the experience, the habit and the age that confers me the rank of veteran and that authorizes me to bore my guests with these spiels.

Without going too far, it is often said that the best wine is the one you like the most, there are those who maintain that the best white wine is a mediocre red. In this world there are a thousand phrases, proverbs and sentences that give play, color and warmth to gatherings. In my case, I have been attached to Ribera del Duero wines for many years, then I discovered the beauties of Adobe de Guadalupe, and among Tempranillos, Cabernets and Syrahs I move with similar joys. But three years ago a discovery came to me. I confess my enormous ignorance about how little I knew about these grapes, Godello they are called. One in particular, created by Rafael Palacios, moved my senses, As Sortes. An excellent white wine, I would love to gloss it here, but I resort to Josep Roca’s text, which is much more than a description of a wine, a literary work in itself:

“As Sortes transmits a feeling of joy, aromatic intensity from the expression of acidity (grapefruit, pippin, wet boxwood, chestnut flower…), and rediscovers an attractive mineral touch. Cold terrain and fruit merge in medium intensity breezes. The Godello shows here its most bittersweet side, its angled and cold start on the palate is bright, it stretches out, lean, to collect at the end of the mouth with a fatty and hot coat and has written a long-lived script that projects towards maturity, where the jovial part fades and the mineral strength of the granite stands out”.

Look at the wine. Health.

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