Last month, I embarked on another wine adventure “vacation,” returning to Spain and visiting several wine regions over the course of 16 days. I delved deeper into wine regions I was already fascinated with, fell even more in love with some regions, while being pleasantly surprised by others.
I started my trip with perhaps the worst travel day of my entire life. It involved delayed flights, a missed connection, sold-out trains, 9 hours wandering the Madrid Airport, lost luggage, and a closed rental car desk. Eventually, I made it to my first destination, Cambados, which would serve as my home base in Rias Baixas for three days.
Cambados is located in the Val do Salnés subregion, which has the highest concentration of D.O. Rías Baixas vineyards. So it was a perfect place to plant myself to visit the area and enjoy as much Albariño as I could get my hands on.
I had to cancel all of my plans for arrival days, including exploring Santiago de Compostela and visiting one winery. I had planned my trip to start in Santiago specifically, as it is the end of the Camino de Santiago, the famous pilgrimage route. My trip was a wine pilgrimage that followed the Camino in reverse.
While that was a bummer, I did not let it dampen my spirits. I may have arrived tired and stinky, with a resolve to never fly on Iberia Airlines again, but I also arrived safely and in a vacation mindset, ready to spend my vacation budget like it was monopoly money on wine, octopus, and jamón.
Rías Baixas is the home of one of my favorite white varietals, Albariño. Cambados is considered the capital of Albariño, which makes sense due to the number of wineries located there.
Due to my advanced certification in Spanish Wine, I already knew some of the basics about Rías Baixas in general. I expected to encounter trellised vines, lots of green (Galicia being called “Green Spain”), many women winemakers, perhaps some rain, and light and crisp Albariños with hints of salinity. Those expectations were met, minus the rain, and I learned a whole lot more.
When one envisions a wine region, images of sprawling vineyards covering fairly large areas are usually conjured. While driving around Rias Baixas and arriving at my B&B on the outskirts of the old town of Cambados, I noticed much smaller plots of vineyards occupying the space around houses. Instead of a yard of grass or trees, residents had vines on trellises. The house right next to my B&B had a backyard of vines, as did several houses on the street.
Cambados sloped gently upward from the ocean. My B&B was located up the slope a bit, so from my second-story window, I could readily see the small plots of vines scattered throughout the town all the way to the ocean. It was charming. I was jealous. I wanted my home to have a yard made of Albariño vines on trellises.
Thankfully, by the next morning, my luggage had made it. After a rushed start to the day, sorting out my rental car situation, picking up my luggage, and finally taking a shower, I was off to my first winery visit, Mar de Frades. It was located 10 minutes away from my B&B.
In the Galician language, Mar de Frades means “Sea of Friars.” It is also the name of a spot in the Arousa estuary where pilgrims disembarked on their way to Santiago.
The tasting room was a very modern blue glass building reminiscent of their blue wine bottles. It was surrounded by a portion of their 60 total hectares of vineyards, making them one of the largest in the region. They had an outdoor tasting area; however, it was quite hot that day, in the 80s Fahrenheit, so the tasting was done in their cute little indoor tasting room.
We started with their Traditional method sparkling Albarino, which was delicate, lightly toasty, and chock full of minerality with very tart apples and apple skin.
Their 2022 Albarino smelled of bananas, wet rocks, and flowers. On the palate it was not terribly fruit forward and more mineral driven with noticeable salinity. The light body combined with salty lemon zest made it very thirst quenching.
Lastly, we tasted the Finca Valinas which spent three years on lees in steel and then one more year in the bottle. At first the nose was a bit funky with some petrol and stone fruit; After some air, the tart-tasting stone fruit became a little more ripe. There was more weight to this wine as it just slipped past the medium body line.
Overall my experience at Mar de Frades was very nice and was on brand for a larger producer. It was done in a small group in a well-equipped tasting room and led by an employee of the winery. It was factual, orderly, and maybe felt a little rushed, but I am also a slow taster so I always feel a little rushed no matter how slow I am actually going. The wines were excellent and more than worthy of all the awards they have received, including Finca Valiñas winning World’s Best White Wine at the Concours Mondial De Bruxelles. My expectations on the wine and the experience were met, but not exceeded.
Later that afternoon, I went from a winery with sixty hectares of vineyards to one with six. Located 15 minutes south of Cambados, Lagard de Costa was near the sea in front of the island of A Toxa in the lowlands. I had stalked a woman named Sonia via email to get an appointment. She was very kind and had agreed to meet me for a tour and tasting on a Sunday afternoon and I really appreciated it.
Sonia turned out to be Sonia Costa, the owner and winemaker. I didn’t put it together previously which was silly on my part. I blame all the multi-tasking I was doing at the time.
Lagar de Costa is not only a winery but they have a small inn on property and I was immediately annoyed at myself for not booking a stay there. Sonia met me with a smile, as her family hung out on the terrace and swam in the pool.
She took me on a tour of the vineyards, and we got up close and personal. While I knew the soil structure in the area was sand and granite, I hadn’t realized the trellises were made of granite as well. They were beautiful and unique. I had never seen trellises like them before.
Sonia pointed out that the plot of vines to our right had concrete trellises, and that was because it was owned by their neighbors. On the other side of that, there were more granite trellises owned by Lagar de Costa.
She explained the purposes of the trellises which were mainly to combat the effects of the cool, wet climate. I knew one was due to the area being prone to flooding. But the height of the vines also helped combat mildew and disease due to that moisture as well as brought the grapes closer to the sun for better ripening..
She explained Rias Baixas was mainly comprised of many small family-owned vineyards, which made what I had noticed on my arrival make more sense. Looking out on this particular area of vines, what you couldn’t tell until you got close up was that it was really many individual vineyards not one large one. You could see the slight differences in the trellis types and heights.
As we stood under the trellises, she gave me another fun fact. The height of the trellises was an indication of how tall or short a family was. Since the families worked the land, the trellises were built at a height to which they could reach them. Tall vines equaled a tall family.
Mind blown.
We then walked under the vines and after a few minutes we dead ended into the ocean. The vines stopped and a little quiet beach began. It was a tiny ,beautiful and peaceful spot on this earth that combined the things I loved.
As we walked back towards the winery, we passed the side of one vineyard where you could see the roots of the vines and the layers of sand and friable granite soils.
I love when wineries have areas where you can see below and see all the layers of the soil like a layer cake. You can really better understand the part the soil plays and how it all works.
After a quick tour of their very small and adorable winery (yes, wineries can be adorable,) the two of us sat down to taste her wine. Sonia asked what I wanted to taste and I of course left that up to her discretion.
We started with their largest production of 50,000 bottles per year, Lagar De Costa 2021, made from vines with an average age of 30 years in stainless steel tanks. It smelled of apples, minerality, and underipe oranges. On the palate, it was perfectly tart citrus fruits and apples with a little bit of salinity and a silky texture.
Next we tasted the Maio 2020, which was also made in stainless, but made from their oldest vines of more than fifty years old and spent 6 months on the lees. It smelled of the sea and smoky minerality. It tasted of tart lemons and ash.
Last but not least was the Tradicion 2021 which saw 1 year in an oak cask. The nose was full of a light toast but also something very fresh like lemongrass. It tasted of ripe apples and the oak was so subtly toasty. It was delicious but I felt like it was holding back a bit and needed a little more time for the extra goodness to come bursting through. I tasted potential. I asked Sonia when she thought this would be at a perfect drinking point, and she said to wait 3 years after bottling.
So I guess I am putting the bottle I bought in the back of my fridge to keep it out of my view until next year so I don’t get tempted before then.
Overall, this was a special tasting experience that exceeded my expectations. I usually expect a more personal experience at a smaller winery, but this was over and above. I felt like I was really starting to understand Rias Baixas as I left Lagar de Costa.
The following day I headed to another larger producer, Pazo de Senorans, with expectations of a large winery experience. I expected a quick tour, a nice tasting, probably with a few other visitors, and some good wine.
I was so wrong. I got so much more.
Iago, the National Commercial manager, gave me perhaps the most thorough tour I have ever had. He showed me every square inch of the gorgeous Pazo, including the old winery which has since been renovated into event space. He even showed me the “panic room.” We walked through the manicured gardens to get a distant peek of new vineyards that had been planted.
We talked about the many other small vineyards owned by dozens of other families from where they also get grapes and how they manage those yields. The right side of my brain loved talking about that process.
All the while he told the story of the Pazo and its owner, Marisol Bueno, aka “the Queen of Albariño.” We can all thank Marisol Bueno for the existence of the D.O. of Rías Baixas and therefore the proliferation of Albariño.
One fact I always loved about Rias Baixas is that over fifty percent of winemakers are woman. Of course the pioneer of the D.O. is a woman. And according to Iago, everyone who managed the winery, with the exception of him and one other person, was a woman. It made so much sense.
Iago paid just as much attention to the tasting portion of the visit, giving me bonus tastings of liquors they produced and of wine you can’t buy.
None of their wines were simple, even their youngest. Their 2022 Albariño had 5 months of lees aging and 2 years of bottle aging. It was tart, fresh, and floral, while also being leesy with a body that leaned more towards medium than light. This was not a porch-pounder. This was something to take the time to contemplate as you sipped it slowly.
The Tras Los Muros 2020 was a revelation. On both the nose and palate it started off toasty and spicy and then a burst of apples followed. It was made from 3 parcels located right on the winery property and aged for 6 months in used French oak.
I left Pazo de Senorans completely blown away by my two hour visit. I had just received a small winery experience from one of the largest producers in Rias Baixas. Everything they did had the level of detail of a small winery, from the farming to winemaking to tourism. I was so happy I chose to visit. I almost didn’t due stereotyping its size.
I guess size really doesn’t matter in some cases.
My last visit took me to further south to the sub region of O Rosal at the mouth of the Mino River. What was on the other side of the river you ask? Portugal.
In O Rosal, they don’t rely solely on Albariño, although it is still a big part. Caino Blanco and Loureiro are often in the mix or, in some cases, single varietals.
O Rosal has a warmer microclimate than Val Do Salnes and you could really taste that. The fruit tasted more ripe, tropical fruit made more of an appearance while the salinity seemed to be less prominent.
I visited Terras Gauda, and the Albariño added some ripe pineapple to the usual citrus notes. The La Mar, which was composed of 90% Caíño Blanco, showed more floral notes.
I was delighted the most by the Terras Guada Black Label. It was like a refreshing caramel apple. Like if a caramel apple could still quench your thirst.
It had been an educational and delicious few days in Rías Baixas. While I love a light, crisp, young Albariño, especially in the summertime, I was surprised and delighted by the different versions I tried on this trip. Whether it was lees aging or oak aging, these versions of Albariño were thought-provoking and complex. They were wines to enjoy slowly and contemplate, which is the exact opposite of what I typically like in a white wine.
I am officially a convert and will seek out these wines in the future. Of course, I will always have a few simple, light, and refreshing Albariños on hand.
This trip only reaffirmed my belief that to really know and understand a particular region, you have to go there and experience it in the moment. Change might happen quicker or slower in different parts of the world, but it is always happening.
They will probably always produce young, crisp, and light versions of Albariño because the varietal shines in that way. The quality is usually well beyond the price point, which is why I think it’s crazy not to reach for the $12-$15 Albariño when you are looking for that style.
However that is not all there is to Albariño. All the wineries I visited had bottlings with extended lees aging, barrel aging, and/or longer bottling aging. I would never have really understood this unless I visited. Yes, I’ve read about this, but unless you see and taste it in the place, it really doesn’t register as fact.
I look forward to what’s next for Rias Baixas, because being run by women, I have no doubt it will keep moving forward and evolving.
As I sit on a flight from Boston to San Francisco, tolerating a can of airplane wine (don’t judge) while reading Wine Enthusiast magazine, I come across this short article and I smile widely as I experience certain kismet.
You see, I’m on my way to California to celebrate my birthday with a road trip through key appellations known for Zinfandel: Lodi, Amador County, and a quick stop at one winery in Napa before spending the last night in Healdsburg in Sonoma. About 20 years ago, I had my very own holy shit wine moment with my first taste of Zinfandel.
I’m not talking about White Zinfandel, folks. I’m talking about Zinfandel the red wine. While some might consider it America’s grape, its origin is in Croatia, where it’s called Crljenak Kaštelanski. In Italy, they call it Primitivo. I’m my house, I usually call it delicious. Google it if you want a complete history.
When I was in my mid twenties and a real life grown up with a budding career, I started to drink wine occasionally at work dinners or when I traveled. Like most novices, I drank what I recognized on the wines-by-the-glass list which usually meant Merlot. Like most novices, I neither loved nor hated what I was drinking. I thought all wine was similar. Except Cabernet. I hated it from my first sip but wasn’t yet educated enough to know why.
Then one night, while at dinner with my boss at the time, he ordered a bottle of Zinfandel and handed me a glass. And HOLY SHIT. Life changing wine moment at Sullivan’s Steakhouse.
Some people remember where they were and who they were with during important world events. I remember where my holy shit wine moment happened. I remember sitting in a booth and having steak with Lyonnaise potatoes in King of Prussia, PA.
I don’t actually remember what Zinfandel it was. But it was different than any wine I had ever had at the time, I couldn’t articulate why in wine terms. I can now.
It had great fruit on it. Perfectly ripe cherries and red berries, a little bit of earth and just enough oak to add a teeny bit of decadence but not too much. Jammy without tasting overcooked and void of acid. And no icky Pyrazine aromas, what I would learn 20 years later is exactly what I hate about Cabernet.
I had discovered my jam a few years before people really started saying “my jam.”
Zinfandel opened my mind and started me on a journey of wine exploration. It made me more apt to try varietals I had never heard of rather than play it safe with something that sounded familiar. It made me want to know more and try new things.
If I had not been handed that glass at that very moment, I am certain life would not have led me to become a certified Sommelier. I would not be sitting here headed to my version of Disneyland staring in my own holy shit origin story movie.
Holy shit indeed.
Cheers.
“When I was a child Every single thing could blow my mind Soaking it all up for fun But now I only soak up wine”
“Priorat is Special.” This is what the instructor at the Philadelphia Wine School said to my Advanced Spain class on the day we covered Catalonia.
He went on to describe the landscape using words like “dramatic,” “intense,” and “steep.”
I saw pictures and I thought those words described it perfectly. But then I stepped foot in Priorat and was left speechless. I couldn’t find words to describe the landscape, at least nothing that did it any amount of justice. And after meeting the people, “special” just wasn’t going to cut it overall. Neither was magnificent, fabulous, amazing, awe-inspiring, dramatic, unbelievable, or wonderous. I needed better words or one great word that meant all of those things and more.
It is an incredibly beautiful place, but the people are what truly made Priorat special. It’s no secret the wine coming out of Priorat can be expensive. It’s a DOQ and everything is hand-harvested since the hills are so steep. But I learned also the wine is a labor of love, family and passion. It’s in their blood. The wine is worth every penny when you see and feel how much they pour into making it.
One might assume Priorat would slide right into a snobby stereotype that fancy wine regions can have (a stereotype that can be quite accurate in some cases.)
Except it doesn’t. Every single person I met, from the tasting room staff to the winery owners to the winemakers themselves, was completely down to earth. They wore jorts and t-shirts, drove beat-up pick-up trucks, and did tastings on the destemming machine conveyor belt. If I met any one of them outside the winery, I would never have guessed their occupation.
Priorat felt lived in. It felt worked in. Nothing was pristine in a “don’t touch” sort of way. It was a juxtaposition. Wild yet cozy. Daring yet comfortable. Rocky and lush. The people were not dramatic even though the landscape was. I felt like I made new and normal friends who just happen to live in one of the most spectacular places in which I have ever set foot.
You go to Priorat for wine. There really isn’t another reason to go there unless you want to be off the grid. In fact, if you were driving though clueless as to where you were, you definitely would think it was beautiful, but you may not even realize you’re driving by vineyards. And if someone were to point out that the green you were seeing was vineyards, you may not believe anyone would be crazy enough to grow vines on such steep hillsides.
So as most people going to Priorat are purposely going for the wine and know a little more than your average consumer, you won’t really find large tour groups. Most of my tasting experiences were private. I only ended up with one couple at one winery. It only added to the special-ness.
Let’s back up a bit. I found a guide through a company called The Unique Traveler. Ania, from Travel Priorat, was scheduled to pick me up at my hotel in Tarragona, drive me to tours of 3 wineries with lunch, and then drop me at my hotel in Falset. Then, we had plans to do it all over again the next day at 3 different wineries. I had decided while planning my trip that I needed 2 days in such a “special” place as Priorat and I’m glad I did.
Ania turned out to be the absolute best guide. She knew wine and seemed to know everyone in Priorat, but instead of trying to impress me with her knowledge and shoving her opinions down my throat, it was like having conversations over wine with a friend. She was interesting, friendly and funny. We laughed a lot. I learned a lot too. I sincerely enjoyed her company. And DAMN she planned hell of a two days for me.
She was right on time to pick me up in Tarragona, and as we drove out of the city, we got to know each other a little. I liked her immediately. As we neared the mountains of Montsant, the DO that surrounds Priorat, she gave me a little history lesson. Some of it I already knew, some I didn’t. Unlike my cranky guide in Utiel-Requena, she seemed to be in love with the region and really knew the facts, talking about them with contagious excitement.
After we entered officially into Montsant the landscape took a dramatic turn. The roads got more uphill and winding as we entered Priorat. As we started winding more, I would look to my right or left and there would be a seemingly randomly placed vineyard on the side of a mountain or between two inclines, almost hidden.
On a map, Priorat is like a pinpoint in the middle of Montsant. And while on a map they look like one is part of the other, they are very different especially when it comes to soil structure, the literal foundation of wine. Priorat is mostly slate (called Llicorella) and Montsant a mixture of limestone, sandstone, and clay among others. They may grow the same grapes, but everything including the end product is different because of this.
Looking at a map though, you wonder, “how is that possible?” How often have you driven over the border of two states, and you would never know it except for a sign marking it? I’ve driven over the border of Pennsylvania and Ohio a hundred times. It looks the same. As does the surrounding area for as far as the eye can see. Drop me blindfolded anywhere near there and it would be a toss up to figure out where I am
In real life, I could literally see Priorat in the middle of Montsant. From above, Priorat looked like a green patchwork quilt was laid over inclines that were too large to be called hills and too small to be called mountains. The patches were a random mix of vineyards, trees, and grass. There was no order to it. The terraced vineyards were not in perfectly shaped sections. In some parts they seemed to taper off unevenly, with a stray row that was much shorter than the rest. My innate need for symmetry was all out of whack because I thought the strays were lovely. They made sense in that place.
As Ania was telling me about how they planted everywhere in Priorat in the 19th century, she told me to look closely as we passed some rather steep hills. You could still see the remnants of old stone terraces long since covered by trees and plants. These terraces were on steep angles that seemed to be close to 90 degrees. I didn’t ask and have not researched yet, but people had to have died during harvest back then. It was THAT steep. Harvest had to have been terrifying. Especially for people afraid of heights, like me.
I’ve always wanted to work a harvest, but I think I’ll aim to do that elsewhere. I’ll settle for working post-harvest in Priorat.
As I said, Ania planned a hell of a two days and looking back, the wineries were in perfect order. Our first stop was Mas Martinet. We pulled into a rather unsuspecting drive at the bottom of the hills and up to a very non-fancy building. We were greeted outside by two winery dogs which was obviously a great start to the visit.
I also learned that the winemaker at Mas Martinet was a woman – Sara Perez.
Woman winemakers are still too rare in my opinion, and I adore coming across them. It’s like striking gold.
Ania went inside to find Gemma, the person who would be giving the tour, and discovered she was not there yet. After a quick phone call and several minutes, Gemma rolled up in a beat-up pick-up truck, apologizing for being a little late. I didn’t care. I was about to drink some wine in Priorat. Little did I know exactly where this tasting would occur.
Gemma went inside and returned two minutes later with a wooden crate containing a few bottles of wine and glasses along with a basket with unknown contents, and we piled into her dusty pick-up truck. On any other day I would have regretted wearing a white skirt, but no stain was going to ruin this day. I would have considered any mark on that skirt from that day a fond memory that I would never want to wash out and hoped someone would notice so I could say “oh, yeah, that’s a stain from Priorat.”
We drove out on the main road and after a minute or so, pulled off onto a dirt road that seemed to disappear upwards around a bend. We then hung a hard right and started a slow journey of hairpin turns up the mountain with their vineyards surrounding us. Up and up we went, and the higher we rose, the more mystified I was that they grew vines here. It was steep. I mean steeeeeep. There were at least 3 times I thought “surely we are almost at the top” and “they can’t possibly grow vines any further up,” only to continue for several minutes more still surrounded by grapes.
We did eventually stop, and it wasn’t even the top. It was for a view. A stunning view where I felt like I could see all of Priorat, and its misshapen vineyards. I could see Porrera, Bellmunt and Grattalops, all splotches of tan peeking up out of the bright green hills of forest and vines. The flat-topped mountains in Montsant rose in the distance. It was breathtaking.
We were in a plot of Grenache and plucked a few grapes right off the vines to taste. We were about seven to ten days away from Harvest, Gemma said. They were sweet and juicy, and according to the winemaker, almost ready.
After taking a few (dozen) pictures, we hopped back in the truck and continued our journey upwards for several more minutes, eventually arriving some 600-plus meters up at the tippy top of their vineyards. The view was even more spectacular up there. And lo and behold, as we got out of the truck, there was a tasting table situated near the edge.
Wine with a view at Mas Martinet
Gemma brought the wine and basket over to the table and uncovered the local cheese, bread and salty meat that was inside the basket, and laid it all out on trays made of a tree stump slices. She then poured some of the first wine, Bru Martinet 2019, a blend of mainly Grenache and Syrah with smaller quantities of Carignan, Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon, aged for 16 months in large oak tanks.
I paused to take it all in. Gemma and Ania were anxiously waiting for to taste the wine, but I needed a minute to absorb exactly what was happening.
I was on top of a mountain. On a vineyard. Looking out over famed Priorat. About to drink wine, some of which was made from the exact place I was standing. On top of a mountain. From grapes grown in the slate llicorella soil I had heard so much about. That was all around me, in pieces of black broken chunks. On top of a mountain. In that moment, I was literally and figuratively on top of a mountain.
I almost found it hard to concentrate on tasting the wine. I wanted to build a little house and live there. And eat the delicious goat and sheep milk cheeses and freshly made bread that Gemma brought. Forever. It was simply one of the most spectacular places I have ever been.
And as I said before, the word special doesn’t cut it. I need a word that means “special x 100.” Since that doesn’t exist, I have to settle for special. And reusing spectacular a bunch of times.
I raised the Bru Martinet to my nose and was greeted by earthy, herby cherries and raspberries. I took a sip and tasted juicy, herby red fruits. It was pretty smooth and fresh. It was what some might call “easy drinking”, which is not a description I would have used on any wine from Priorat I had consumed in the past.
Although my definition of “easy drinking” is probably much different than everyone else. If it’s delicious, it’s easy drinking for me no matter how full bodied and rich it is.
We then moved on to the El Escurcons 2018, which translates to “The Viper,” a totally awesome wine name, in my opinion. This 100% Grenache was also earthy and herby, but with much more noticeable minerality and great fruit on the palate. It had more tannins than the Bru.
I dragged out the mountain tasting as long as I could, but eventually we had to go. We were on a schedule. I had more wine to taste.
We wound our way down, and I made a point to not look to my right. I find coming down is always scarier than going up when it comes to heights. I’m clumsy and facing the direction in which you would tumble if you fell is much worse than having the distance at your back.
We went back to the winery and did a tour of their facilities. They were rather small. Although wineries always look way too small to me to produce the volume of wine they actually produce. There were some large oak tanks that contained juice from this year’s harvest at the beginning stages of fermentation. Written in what looked like chalk, was the date August 27, a few days before I arrived in Spain. Much to my delight, Gemma took my glass and poured me some juice right out of it. It was sweet and delicious as the sugars had not been fermented to alcohol yet. It made me feel like a little part of the process.
If I come across that wine in the future, I can say I knew it when it was just juice.
I also saw some glass vessels called “damajoanes” used to age wine. They looked like vases in a way, with very small necks. I’ve seen oak, concrete, and clay, but not glass. So that was unique and something new I learned not only about Priorat but winemaking in general.
Afterwards we went into their “tasting room” to taste one more wine. I use quotes because their tasting room was basically a dining room table in their office. It really felt like I was getting a private experience that tourists don’t get.
We tasted the Clos Martinet 2018 next and before I did, I had to ask if the word “clos” meant the same thing as it does in France.
In France and everywhere else that uses that word, it describes a vineyard enclosed by a distinct border, like a stone wall, which was mainly the case in Burgundy.
I saw no such definitive walls in Priorat yet. Turns out it did mean the same thing, but they were less militant about the wall being solid and completely enclosing the plot. It sounded like it had to just be close enough. I liked the casual flexibility in their definition.
The Clos Martinet was aged in all the vessels they had at their disposal: cement tanks, damajoanes, French oak barrels, foudres and clay jars. It had the same varietals in the blend as the El Escurcon, but it was much different with some toasty-ness and chocolate with tart red fruit on the palate and a minerality I could taste more than I could smell. It was more of a classic style Priorat and had decent tannins.
I decided I wanted to purchase a bottle of the Bru Martinet as I just found it so delightfully different than Priorats I have had in the past. Then Ania dropped a bomb on me in form of the price. I braced myself to hear a high price as I was accustomed to and had prepared myself for prior this trip. “Seventeen Euro,” she said quietly.
“ONLY SEVENTEEN FRIGGIN EURO??” I shouted. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”
Now, one of the things I love about Spanish wine in general is that you usually get a tremendous value. Outside of Rioja and Priorat, the wine is delicious and often inexpensive, and the quality is that of a more expensive bottle in the USA. I was not expecting to come across any wine under twenty euro in Priorat, even their entry level wine. I was over the moon thrilled.
This was a wine I could share with friends. I usually hoard my pricey or special wines for a time when I will share them with people who can appreciate them. Unfortunately for me, I don’t see my friends who fit that description all too often, especially since I moved from Philly to Boston a few months ago. I actually saw two use cases for this wine (other than downing the whole bottle myself on a Friday night): when I don’t want to worry about wasting an expensive bottle on people who won’t really appreciate what it is but I still want to drink good wine AND when I’m sharing with people I want to trick into thinking I opened an expensive bottle so I can see the look on their faces when I tell them how much it actually was and thus prove my belief that you don’t have to spend a lot of money on great wine.
I was sad to say goodbye to Gemma, who was an absolutely lovely person, but we were running a little late for our next stop, Mas Alta.
It wasn’t too far away, and we pulled up to a much larger, newer looking building that definitely looked more like a winery. We walked up to this huge arched doorway which was opened by a little firecracker named Roxana.
Roxana was joyful, hilarious, and excited about wine and I think life too. Later she would show us a rosé she was making for a “love party” she was having next June, and I seriously wanted to book a flight back to Spain to crash her party.
She was and will always be one of my favorite humans I have met on a trip abroad. Actually, she is probably one of my favorite humans I have met in life. I could not imagine a day she would be anything but happy and cheerful and just fun to be around.
Roxana from Mas Alta!
We tasted their white wines first. White Priorat is pretty hard to come by here in the states. They don’t make a lot of it to begin with, therefore its not exported in large quantities, so it was really fun to taste it.
I tasted the Artigas, a blend of Grenache Blanc, Pedro Ximenez, and Macebeo and the La Solano Alta, a 50/50 blend of Grenache Blanc and Carignan Blanc. They both had two things in common – a note of petrol on the nose and tart fruit on the palate. In fact, the La Solano Alto flat out smelled like motor oil when it first hit the glass. After some air both wines opened, and the petrol faded away to peaches and apples on the Artigas and toasted Lychee in the La Solano Alta. They were two very unique white wines, that while not my preference, were very well made and interesting.
Before we moved on to their reds, we did a little tour. They had harvested some white Grenache that very morning (the bin had 9/2 written right on it!), and I was able to taste a few berries right out of the bin where they were being cooled to preserve their freshness. I also tasted the freshly crushed juice of the rosé Roxana was experimenting with for her Love Party, the one I still want to crash.
I ran into a little time problem when we tasted the reds, in that I had run out of it. So, I took no notes on the Cirerets, La Basseta, or La Creu Alta. I purchased La Creu Alta, a blend of Carignan and Grenache, originating from old vines that were 80 to 100 years of age, and then aged for 18 months in French oak barrels; 80% are new and 20% in 1 year old barrels. A pretty classic style. I do remember thinking “big f’in wine. Yum.”
I rushed out of Mas Alta after a few pictures with my girl Roxana, happy and hungry and ready for lunch. We headed over to Clos Figueras, a winery that has a restaurant on property. We didn’t do a tasting there but had some of thier wine with lunch. I had a glass of white with my fish, and to be honest, I was so wrapped up in the moment, and laughing with Ania, I don’t remember much about the wine. Obviously, it didn’t blow me away, but I wasn’t disappointed either. The restaurant was lovely, and I’ll just have to go back and do an actual tasting of their wines someday.
We were running really late to Clos Mogador, but Ania called and they were totally cool with my tardiness. I wasn’t surprised.
I have had Clos Mogador’s wine before. I used it in one of my events that had a larger budget. So, I was a little familiar with their one wine, but really excited to learn more. I actually think I committed infanticide with the wine I had previously. It was good but needed more time in the bottle and I opened it too soon. Although it made for a great discussion about tannins for that event since they were still high and very obvious.
We arrived and joined a tour with a young couple from Nashville who were super nice and on some type of wine vacation as they were headed to Bordeaux after Priorat. I kinda wanted to stow away in their trunk, but I also wanted to do my 2nd day of Priorat, so I opted not to hide the trunk of their rental car.
The tour guide at Clos Mogador was super nice. Not as funny as Roxana, but really pleasant, and as usual, very passionate about Priorat and the winery. I thought Clos Mogador had a slightly more serious tone about it at first. It was not snobby one bit, but there was a vibe that seemed a little more “intense” about it. Maybe it was because Rene Barbier, the father of Priorat, was there. I could have been making this up. It was just a feeling I got.
Along the tour we saw the barrel room, more glass vessels, and some whole cluster Syrah grapes that had been harvested on August 30th chilling in a tank covered in saran wrap. So maybe it wasn’t so serious there…
That serious feeling was shattered a bit more when we ended up doing our tasting on the destemming machine. The tasting room was occupied so at the end of the tour, they brought out some cheese and meat and the wines, and we popped a squat right on their machinery amongst their tanks. It was actually very Priorat – low maintenance setting & great wine– and pretty cool. There was no pretty room to distract you from their wine. It was all about the wine wherever we could taste it. Which was right there on a conveyor belt.
Alternative “Tasting Room” at Clos Mogador
Right in the middle of the tasting, the legend himself, Rene Barbier, walked in. I was like a super fan meeting the Backstreet Boys. He spoke no English that I could tell, but I still managed to fawn all over him with my googly wine eyes. I hope he understood that I appreciated him and that I would probably not be standing there if not for him and his work in Priorat. And that I was wasn’t actually as creepy as I appeared in the moment. The Nashville couple definitely thought I was a huge weirdo.
We started with red here, specifically with the Manyetes 2017, a lovely 100% Carignan. The nose was mildly chocolatey and also mushroom-y. It was a weird combo on paper, but it worked. The palate was full of raspberries and minerality and was very tannic.
We moved on the Clos Mogador Gratallops 2018, a blend of 50% Grenache, with Carignan, Syrah and Cabernet Sauvignon rounding out the blend. The nose burst with chocolate, blackberries, toasty-ness, and something vegetal and savory. The palate was savory blackberries.
We then moved on surprisingly to what was technically an orange wine. It was a white wine made with skin contact, although it was still golden in color, and not so amber like some orange wines can be. It was funky. Good funky and interesting, but funky. It smelled like a burnt vanilla-covered balloon. It tasted of spice, lemons, wet stones, and a latex balloon. I’m sure more oxygen would have opened up different aromas, but we moved on so there was no time to tell.
Last but not least was their Com Tu, which was 100% Grenache from Montsant. It was very fruity on the nose with some signature Grenache lavender, and had great fruit on the palate, along with some orange peel and minerality.
I was sad the day was over but thrilled I had another full day in Priorat the very next day. I was not ready to be done with it.
Ania drove me to my hotel in Falset, The Lotus. I was still and always will be amazed that they let cars drive in these little medieval villages.
The hotel was small and cute and clean. I had dinner there as Ania suggested. It was very good, but I was already in the beginning stages of being “fooded out” from the whole trip. I could barely eat what I ordered. I went to bed early to be refreshed for the next day.
I met Ania the next morning at 9:30am (after having the best avocado toast of my life in my hotel) and we were off to the village of Porrera to a small winery named Sangenis i Vaque. It was located in a “placa” right next to Vall Lach, a winery that my wine school instructor called the best in Priorat. I used quotes around “placa” because it was the tiniest placa, or square, ever. It was barely a placa. Vall Lach had experienced some damage from snow the area got in the winter and was under construction. Ania told me they lost a lot of their wine from 2020 because of it. 2020 was a real bitch for many reasons, apparently.
Anyway, we were greeted next door at Sangenis I Vaque by a young woman named Maria Sangenis in a green t-shirt and jorts, her long brown hair pulled back into a casual ponytail. She had a very Tobin Heath look about her (for all you USWNT fans.) She could have been her sister. Adorable but low maintenance. In most other wine regions, you would have assumed she just worked there, maybe helped harvest. In Priorat, she was the winery owner’s daughter and winemaker. Because of course she was.
I learned that the winery was basically the result of a marriage. The man made wine. The woman owned the vineyards. They married and started making wine together.
That is a very simplified version of the story.
Today, the daughters are making some of the wine. Sisters making wine. Women winemakers. I freaking love this story.
We started with a tour by checking out their tanks that were built into the ground. In fact, it reminded me a little of the sump pump we used to have in our utility room as a child except much larger and filled with wine not crap. I was terrified of falling in the sump pump as a small child. Of course, I did fall in the sump pump once. I don’t think I would have minded if it was filled with wine.
I was showed the barrel room and she explained to me their use of oak in both traditional and modern styles. She spoke about oak and where it came from, their very specific amount they are toasted, how they used it, when and how long they use it for each wine. I loved hearing about it mainly because she spoke so passionately about it.
We then sat down in their “tasting room” which was basically two barrels and a few stools in the room with the in-ground tanks. Again – great wine in a low maintenance setting.
Sangenis i Vaque
The first wine we tasted was their Lo Coster Blanc, 2020, which was 85% Garnacha Blanc and 15% Macebeo that spent 4 months in French oak. This was made by Maria and her sister and won a Decanter award. It was totally different than the other whites I had sampled the day before and frankly, ever from Priorat. It had lemons, fresh minerality and a light toasty-ness on the nose and on the palate was similar with tart lemons and wet stones in the mix. The acid level was just something else. It wasn’t overly complicated. It was happy and delightful. I would actually compare the body and citrus notes to something like an Albarino. It made me happy. It was cheerful. I was surprised and delighted.
Then I tasted the red made by the sisters, Lo Bancal de Granatxa (and noticed at that very moment that the Catalan spelling of Grenache is GRAnatxa not like GARnatcha like the Spanish spelling, even thought I had seen it a hundred times before.) This was 100% Granatxa in used oak for 6 months. Again, like the white made by these two sisters, it was happy. Notes of blueberries and dried red fruit, with a tiny bit of chocolate. Like the white I felt cheerful while drinking it. It wasn’t overly complex, but it certainly was not dumb. Sometimes you just want a delightful complex-enough wine to brighten your day, and this was it. And it was probably the first 100% Grenache I was delighted by. (As a single varietal, Grenache had not historically my favorite.)
We then moved on to the Garbinata 2019, a blend 45% each of Grenache and Carignan with 10% Syrah, and absolutely no oak. It was dark fruit, concentrated but fresh, and you could actually really taste that meaty hint of Syrah.
Next was the Vall Por 2019, which was 60% Carignan, 40% Grenache in used oak (3–4-year use) for 1 year. I wrote down the word “YUM!” It had some nice ripe red fruit and plums on the nose and the same on the pallet with a good hit of tannins. Not too tannic, but enough to balance out the ripeness of the fruit. I knew immediately I would be going home with this bottle.
Two more wines to go and we moved on to more traditional styles using more and more new oak. The Cornaya 2014, was a single vineyard (planted in 1978) blend of 50% Grenache and Carignan that was co-fermented (meaning, instead of fermenting the wines separately and then blending afterwards which is traditional, they threw them all in the tank to ferment together.) It spent 1 year in oak, 50% of which was new and 50% of which was 2nd use. This was much earther and savory, with some stewed tomatoes and mushrooms (as if you cooked them together), and then after you got though that some dark fruit made an appearance. On the palate, it was savory dark fruit. Everything blended together nicely.
Last but certainly not least was the Clos Monlleo 2010, the most traditional wine they made. It was made from 50-year-old vines grown on all slate, 50% each of Grenache and Carignan, and spend a whopping 18 months in NEW French oak.
First of all, let me just say I appreciate when wineries bottle age wine for me. This was their newest release of this wine, a 2010. They decided when it’s first ready to drink even though it could definitely age more.
I don’t have patience. If you give me a bottle of wine and tell me to age it for 10 years, do you really think it’s lasting that long in my house? I will commit infanticide quicker than you can say infanticide. So, when the winery makes that call for me and I can’t even buy it for 10 years, then I will happily thank them for forcing me to have that patience.
Anyhoo, this wine was deep and dark with the fruit and hints of tobacco. It was the same on the palate and had some dusty tannins. I was digging it but if I was being honest, I preferred the freshness that the wine made by the daughters. Gun to my head pick one: I was going with the ladies’ wine.
But it was all so good, and I could taste it was all made with care and love. So, I felt the need to buy 6 bottles and have Cargo Wine ship it to me. Their prices were more than reasonable. And this was stuff in such small production I would never get it in the US.
I can’t wait to share the sister-made wine with my actual sister.
So, I left Sangenis i Vaque thinking, “How can this get any better?” Oh, but of course it could. This was Priorat.
We ventured on to the next winery, Merum Priorati. Ventured is a strong word because we walked out of the square a few minutes down the road, just over a little foot bridge and arrived at the winery.
We were greeted by another lovely young woman which Ania seemed to know well, as usual. Merium Prioarti was a very modern-looking winery set at the foot of a very medieval town. The juxtaposition was stunning.
And while this seemed very modern by looking at it, they made wine in some traditional ways also. It was a beautiful combination.
I also learned a fun fact stemming from their name. “Vinus” is what the Romans used to drink, and it was a mix of wine, water, honey and spices. Merum was the actual undiluted wine.
So obviously the next time I’m at a fancy restaurant, I’m asking for the merum list instead of the wine list.
After the tour I was led into an impeccable and modern tasting room, with various shaped glasses and snack pairings preset. And then walked in the winemaker, Roger Oferil, to lead the tasting.
Merum Priorati
Doing a tasting with the actual winemaker is something else. It’s like hearing a parent talk about their children whom they adore, or someone describing the love of their life. I would someday like someone to talk about me with the same adoration as a winemaker talks about their wine. Especially a Priorat winemaker.
We started with the Inici 2018, a blend of Grenache, Carignan, Syrah and Cabernet Sauvignon aged in used barrels. It had aromas of fig and pomegranate and like those two fruits, it was both fresh and concentrated. The winemaker shared that he harvests the Cab when it’s a little over-ripe to avoid any green notes from the stems and seeds, which I found so interesting. Ad as that green note in Cabs is not my favorite, I agreed with his choice. It all made sense tasting this wine because it had both fresh and dry fruit notes in it. Yummy.
We moved on to the Desti 2018, a more modern style Grenache and Carignan blend with some Syrah, in new and used oak. One the nose I didn’t get much fruit at first, but rather an earthy minerality and milk chocolate. The palate was intense with blueberries, earth and more dark fruit. More yumminess.
Then we went to the Desti 100% Grenache. I was told they really had to convince the owner to even make this wine. They made a very small amount the first year they made it, and it was so good, they were then allowed to make more. It was a wine the winemaker really believed in. It was very herby. The classic herbs de province aromas that Grenache can have shone bright. It as also earthy and floral. On the palate it was herby black raspberries. It was a great and true expression of Grenache.
Last but not least was their most traditional wine, El Cel 2017, a blend of Grenache, Carignan, Syrah and Cabernet Sauvignon aged in new oak. The nose was rich with cocoa, dirt and tobacco; a sip was like taking a relaxing bath in chocolate. There was a little chunk of chocolate to pair with it and when I did, I swear I floated outside of my body and looked down on my relaxed and happy face.
It was a tough decision to choose just one wine but then I realized since I had opted to ship wine home from Sangenis I Vaque, I had more room in my suitcase, so I opted to buy the El Cel and the Desti. I needed both the fresher and traditional styles. When they returned with my bottles, they gifted me a bottle of the Desti 100% Grenache too because they so believed in that wine. It was an honor to receive such a gift from the winemaker.
It was then time for lunch. I needed to eat but I was full on wine and joy. We went to Cooperativa which had a female chef that of course Ania knew well, and they served wine from what seemed like every winery in the region.
I was at a unique point in the trip where I was both hungry and couldn’t imagine putting any more food in my stomach. What was a girl to do but keep eating?
And so, I did. Ania and I split a few dishes and had more wine. We of course were running late so we rushed out to make our last appointment at Mas Doix.
On the way, I thought “how the hell is Ania going top everything I saw and tasted and put a bow on the trip at the last winery?” Mas Doix, that’s how.
Just as we started the trip the day before with an incredible view, we ended with one. Mas Doix is situated seemingly smack dab in the middle of Priorat. It’s not really, but it felt that way.
Me & Ania
We were lower in altitude than Mas Martinet, but the view was equally as spectacular because I was in it. I was in the hilly vineyards, surrounded by them, wrapped in their patchwork quilt, hugged by the mountains of Montsant. Those mountains seemed to be enclosing me into Priorat, asking me not to leave. I wanted to oblige.
After a quick tour, during which everyone was bustling around preparing for harvest, we sat down in their gorgeous tasting room with the same spectacular view. They had these cute little tasting notes that not only mentioned the typical details, like grapes and aging, but it also told how many vines it took to make one bottle.
I tasted two whites first that were both surprisingly fresh and tart. The Murmuri 2020 Grenache Blanc was filled with fresh lemon and lime peel. The Salix 2019 was a delightful lemon flower pie.
The reds were also delightful and somewhat surprising in ways. Les Crestes, and blend of 80% Grenache, with 10% each of Carignan and Syrah that sent 9 months in barrels ,has aromas of strawberry yogurt. I swear, there was something yogurt-y about it that was awesome and unexpected.
Next was Salanques, a blend of the same grapes as Les Crestes but slightly less Grenache. It was also from old vines that were between 60-80 years old and spent 12 months in barrel. The notes said it took two vines to make one bottle. The nose on this baby was dark and herby, toasty, funky, nutty with some balsamic that turned more caramel later. It even expressed something floral. It rapidly changed which I loved. On the palate my first thought was “red vines” as in the candy. It had red fruit but also some licorice. It was decently tannic. I loved it.
Lastly, we had the Doix 2017, a 65/55 Grenache/Carignan bend, from really old vines (80-110 years!) aged for 14 months in barrel. It took 3 vines to make one bottle according to their notes. This was darker fruit and cinnamon on the nose, with blackberries and spice on the palate. It was a little green and a little too spicy for my taste, as well as very tannic. It may not have been my jam but I’m sure it was someone else’s.
I didn’t want to leave because that meant it was all over. When Ania mentioned stopping at Escaladei monastery on the way home, I of course jumped on it. Anything to extend the trip. It turned out to be a really cool spot that I would recommend. Next time I’ll definitely take a tour inside. We walked along the exterior, peeked over the stone wall, and picked grapes off the two rows of vines that grew right next to the parking lot. (So very Priorat.) It felt like it was butted up right at the base of the mountains. They were closer than at any other point on my tours.
Sadly, my time was up and Ania drove me back to my hotel. I was a little buzzed and a lot content. I wanted to stay and watch the harvest and see what became of the grapes I tasted out of bins and off vines. I wanted to hang out with Roxana and taste the winemaking sisters newest creations. I wanted to meet Ania’s husband and sons. I wanted to drink wine with this spectacular view for the rest of my life.
I guess I will just have to return to this very special place in the very near future, if only to retrieve the piece of my heart I left behind.
Lionel’s hair looked oddly like this guy’s before his haircut…
I’m in the middle of writing my final project for my Advanced Spanish Wine class, so of course I got a hankering for something Spanish this evening. So I turned to my current obsession: Monastrell.
This bottle was an impulse purchase at the PA State store. I went there for another wine from Ego, called Infinito. It’s another mainly Monastrell blend that we had in class and I loved it. HIGHLY recommend. I then discovered it was on sale for $16.99. (Gotta love the non-DOCG’s of Spain. ) I saw the Goru Gold with the “93 Point” sticker sitting in a basket near the register, noticed it was from the same producer, and also on sale insanely cheap so I picked up 2 bottles making an assumption I would probably love it.
This is 80% Monastrell, 15% Syrah and 5% Cab Sauv. It’s from Jumilla, an area in Spain known for its Monastrell. I have a feeling when I go there, I’ll need a very large suitcase specifically for all the Monastrell.
This wine starts off on the nose with that Monastrell signature smoky aroma that I love, and then after a few swirls and some oxygen, holy crap this smells like blueberries. A mountain of ripe blueberries. It’s unreal how strongly this smells of blueberries. But then I get some vanilla which turns the blueberry into a blueberry muffin. A perfectly baked, warm, brown sugar topped blueberry muffin. I’m sure there are more scents in there but I don’t even want to find them because the blueberry muffin is divine.
On the tongue, there are definitely berries and a little Syrah spice and some tobacco smoke. The fruit is definitely in the spotlight and delightful, and its blanketed by vanilla. It’s full bodied and the heaviness almost makes you think this is lower in acid, but it’s pretty balanced with that respect.
This is pretty delightful wine. I do like the Infinito better, but I’m very glad I bought 2 bottles of this. Another great Spanish value at around $10. I may become obsessed with blueberries tomorrow…
Disclaimer: Today I found out I’m being furloughed at a company I’ve worked at for the past 16 years effective in one week (yes, you read that right, I was given one week’s notice) so forgive any typos or rants as I’ve consumed more than half of this bottle at the time I’m writing this.
I have learned pretty recently that I really seem to enjoy high acid wines that are sur lie aged. If you are not sure what that means, it means the wine was aged on the lies (pronounced “leez.”) Still not helping? The lies are the dead yeast cells and gunk that exist after fermentation. That might sound gross to you – it sounds gross to me – but it adds this nutty flavor to the wine that I really like. Especially when combined with an acidic wine. Fruit and nuts are paired for a reason – they are great together. In wine aromas, this is no exception in my opinion.
This wine is from Vinho Verde in Portugal and is made from Loureiro, a grape that I have little experience with. By little I mean none. It has been mentioned in my Advanced Spanish wine class but I can’t say I’ve ever purposefully and knowingly had it. I’ve had my fair share of Vinho Verdes so I definitely have unknowingly consumed it.
On the nose it’s lemon and walnuts followed by peach and grapefruit. It’s a citrus party and they invited their friend walnut to join in. I can see how some might find this odd, but I find it so interesting.
On the tongue, its a lemon and citrus party. Light bodied it dances on your tongue a bit before Mr. Nut shows up to add some complexity. There is also some herbi-ness (I decided I do not like the word herbaceous and am opting to make up my own word going forward: herbi-ness). The nuttiness almost fools you into thinking it’s a little creamy but it’s not really, maybe slightly not as light body as it would be otherwise but just a little. it’s medium way minus if anything.
This is a great wine if you want something easy drinking and light but also not so simple. The sur lie aging adds that little bit of je ne sais quoi, that zha zha zoo. It turns a simple wine you’d drink by the pool on a hot day into a wine you want to enjoy with some apps and friends.
If you don’t know already, I love Portugal. Love is probably not strong enough. Obsessed is likely more accurate. Covid-19 is ruining my chances of taking a fifth trip there at some point this year. I literally ache I miss it so much. I realize me not travelling is not important in the grand scheme of life right now. But I’m going to allow myslf a pity party this Memorial Day Weekend, during which I will drink this rosé in order to console myself.
I had lunch at Montedas Servas while in Portugal last September while on a vacation whose sole purpose was to visit two wine regions: The Douro Valley and Alentejo. Alentejo surprised me just a bit. I mean I wasn’t shocked that I loved it, but it was more beautiful and authentic than I had ever imagined.
In a nutshell, Alentejo is made up of small medievil villages on hilltops with cork trees, vineyards and vast open beauty in between. I encountered very little tourists, and yet there was so much to see. I hired a private tour guide to arrange two days of vineyard tours. She did not disspoint and you can read about it in my other blog, Sandy Solo.
As I was saying, I had lunch at Montedas Servas, but no tour. But it was some of my favorite wine from the trip. I had this rosé and a red at lunch and I couldnt not leave there without buying a few bottles. The problem was this was near the end of my trip, so my extra suit case for wine was full and I already had additional bottles that were going to have to go home in my regular suitcase.
My tour guide said she would ship me the wine, so I purchased two bottles of the rosé and 4 of the red. The total in true Portugal fashion: 42 Euro. I almost died. I think the rosé was like $5USD a bottle. I still don’t understand how that is even possible.
So to the tasting.. This is definitely cheering me up a bit. Although Im also sad I didnt get more of this delicious rosé.
It has the most delightful nose of fresh strawberries. There is a slight mineralness to it as well. I do get some darker red fruit the deeper I go. There is also something minimally vegetal, like wet, green leaves after a spring shower, but the beautiful summer strawberry is the clear winner here.
On the tongue the strawberry is accompanied by a ittle bit of orange peel. And the mineral notes give it a little bit of freshness. Its a teeny weeny bit more medium bodied and I like it that way.
This is not a refreshing rosé to cool you off on a hot summer day by the pool. It’s an appetizer. Drink it in the shade. If you can get your hands on it. Which you can only do by going to Portgal.
On my next trip, I am making a detour back here to pick up some more, even if I’m up north drinking Vino Verde. This is a solid 4.5/5 as far as rosés go. It gets extra love for the price.
Priorat has been my new BFF for the past year or so. When I saw this was on sale and read its great reviews, it was a no brainier.
The name Black Slate describes the nose perfectly. It’s all you can smell right off the bat, as if someone smacked you in the face with a large, wet stone.
I’m not gonna lie, this wine smells funky. Not bad funky. Just funky. I get a little barnyard/poopy diaper like a Pinot noir but with absolutely no roses or floral. It’s real earthy. Wet rocks in a pig sty earthy. After letting it aerate for 20 minutes or so, some red fruit comes out. It also has this pungent scent that I get with some Bordeaux wines. I can never accurately describe it other than pungent and a little unpleasant to me. Truffle maybe? I hate truffles, at least the mushroom anyway (if anyone knows what I’m talking about and can describe it please share!)
On the mouth it’s just as earthy, but equally black cherry-like. Smear some almost ripe cherries on some slate and lick it. That’s this wine. Letting it breathe changes almost nothing.
Im not in love. It’s really really interesting. The flavors are just not my jam. This is the first Priorat I’m not in love with. I’ll survive. Plenty more to try.
I recently returned from a wonderful trip to Portugal – my fourth trip to the country. This trip I focused on two wine regions: The Douro Valley and Alentejo.
I actually spent two nights at Quinta de La Rosa right at the start of the harvest. What an incredible time to be in this area. The grounds of Quinta de La Rosa were lovely. It is literally on the side of the hill in the vinyards. I literally slept a few steps from thier famous Vale do Inferno. You could actually hike through it. It was all very magical, being in the vines, with view of the Douro River, not a cloud in the sky, walking amongst grapes that would soon be made into wine that would make people very happy. I highly recomend staying here.
On to the wine. The tasting they do for visitors is actually mildly disappointing. They don’t do tastings of thier Vale do Inferno or thier reserve wines. They didnt even offer it as an upgrade. As disappointing as that was, you could not not be happy in thier scenery so I didn’t sweat it. I brought a bottle of thier Red home with me to enjoy later.
Later turned out to be the weekend after I got back when I was having Flashback Friday moments and FOMO as I knew the harvest was in full swing and I was not there. So I opened my bottle of QdLR Red 2017 and tried to transport my mind back a week.
This is a good introduction to the Douro Valley wine, I think. Douro reds are mainly blends and usually always include thier favorite native grape, Touriga Nacionale. I find that letting Douro reds decant a bit “settle” them and this was no exception. They can be a bit “in your face” right after you open them, but letting them air out for a little bit silkens them out.
I found this was the best after an hour. Which is A LONG TIME for me to wait for wine after it’s poured. It’s torture knowing its right there in the glass, while you try to summon Yoda telling you to “be patient young Skywalker.”
On the nose you get ripe red fruits, like raspberries that are just ripe and still a teeny weeny bit tart. There is also some unsweetened cocoa, like baking cocoa. Go to your kitchen and smell the container if you have it to see what I’m talking about. There is a mild smokiness, and some herbaciousness that I can’t define more than that. I smell herbs but can’t quite narrow that down to the specific one.
Upon tasting it, it has balanced acidity, and is mildy earthy and fruity. Mild is the best way I can describe this. Nothing is smacking me in the face. The flavors are hanging out and chilling.
I then ate a peice of dark chocolate with salted pretzel and it really brought out the cocoa. Yum.
Overall, on a scale of 1- 5 (and I rarely give 5’s so keep that in mind), I’m gonna give this a 3.65. It was enjoyable, I’d order it in a restuarant happily, but not the best wine I’ve ever had. At the price point it is in Portugal, it’s a steal.
I purchased this wine on a trip last year to Mendoza, Argentina. I was with my travel soulmate, Meredith, and the “soul” purpose of this vacation was wine. If you want to read about some of those adventures, read my other blog, Sandy Solo (link found on the intro page of this site).
Meredith and I spent several days touring and tasting in all the Mendoza regions, ending with the Uco Valley. Pulenta was the second winery of the day and we enjoyed a 7-course wine pairing lunch at this beautiful winery. So needless to say, my tongue was a bit numb towards the end which is where this Cab Franc came into play. At the time I remember thinking it was unique. Having already purchased all Malbec from the other wineries, I decided to purchase this Cab Franc to add a little variety to my suitcase.
Like most wine I purchase on trips, I hoarded it for well over a year. I need to learn to buy duplicates so I actually drink it when I get back. I decided to open it recently in my effort to make more room in my wine fridge for additional inventory that will be coming from my upcoming trip to Portugal. Boy, was I surprised by this Cab Franc the second sober time around.
Don’t get me wrong, this is a very very good quality wine. But it is very very much NOT my jam. It embodies the quality of a Cab Sauv that makes me dislike Cab Sauv: Green Pepper. I have never liked Cabs and couldn’t really articulate why until I took my Somm classes. The answer: Pyrazine. It’s what gives wine that green pepper aroma – in both Sauv Blancs and Cabs. While it doesn’t bother me in a white, I strongly dislike it in a red. This is a signature aroma of a varietely correct cab sauv. And it makes a strong, leading actor appearance in this Cab Franc. Blech.
The green pepper aroma in this Pulenta Cab Frac is overwhelming to me. At first sniff, it’s like Mike Tyson is wearing boxing gloves made out of giant green peppers and he punches you right in the nose. Then, he grinds up the giant green pepper into a fine powder and makes you snort it like cocaine. That’s how intense that aroma is in this wine. I let it rest in my glass for about an hour and also let the temperature lower a bit. That scent got more palatable, but was still the primary thing that hit me.
Really digging my nose in and trying to get past the pepper, I do pick up some ripe red fruit. I also smell a little bit of what’s called forest floor, but more like in the fall – like it rained and the leaves are a bit damp and then someone sets some leaves on fire. That like smokey leaf smell, but also like someone added pencils to the fire and it’s a mixture of burning leaves and burning graphite.
So then I taste it. You can really taste the ripe red fruit up front but it’s as if someone packed them into a green pepper. So you taste the fruit up front, but you end with the pepper. Maybe because it’s a flavor I don’t care for, it’s all I can taste. The pepper is following me. I can’t escape it.
If you enjoy that flavor you will absolutely love this wine. Like I said, it’s a very good wine. Ripe and full-bodied, tannic enough. It’s just not my jam.
Sandy Somm 