Wine, History, and Magic

This is part two of the story about our amazing weekend. Check out Its not a party until somebody kills a pig if you missed it.

On the way to the wine cellar, Imra explained to us that the place was not finished, but his brother in law and father in law were building it to be a resort where people could come to experience the Romanian countryside and the unique beauty that it offers. The wine cellar was actually part of a very old building that was acting as the foundation for this new pensiune. After the 30 minute drive down (mostly) paved roads, we arrived to find that the vintner was not there. Imre's sister in law had called to make the appointment, so we called her to make sure that we weren't early or terribly late. She said that she would ask her husband to call, because apparently this particular vintner felt that wine was men's work and that it should be a man who makes the appointment. He had obviously never met Crystal.

We walked around the grounds and joked about chauvinism in wine while we waited. When he finally did pull his Dacha 1310 into the parking lot, we went straight to it. He led us to a set of double doors and through the archway into the most beautiful basement I think I have ever seen. It was filled from one end to the other with huge barrels painted black and red. It had arched ceilings made of brick which had taken on the white of the minerals that had grown over the centuries to encrust the entire chamber. It had the smell that only age can give a place, as if the brick, the wood, the wine, even the air was just an extension of the Earth. This place definitely had magic in it. Magic and lots of wine.

He pulled out two glasses and set them on the table. Imre and I shared a sideways glance, both of us wondering if the chauvinism would go so far as to exclude Crystal from the tasting. Both of us knowing that would not end well for any one. Thankfully, it was our driver, Imre who did not get a glass, which makes a lot of sense when you consider Romania's absolute zero tolerance for drinking and driving. Our new favorite vintner picked a glass up from the table and handed it to Crystal and pointed at me to pick up the other. He used a mallet to knock the cork loose from the top of one of the enormous casks and pulled a siphon hose down from the wall. By siphon hose, I mean just a hose (or hose pipe, for those readers in Eastern NC), not some new fangled thing with a hand pump on one end so that you wouldn't need to use your mouth to suck the contents of the barrel into the hose. No sir! Not here! But that's the old way, right? Besides, it's wine; what's the harm?

Our new favorite vintner

He filled each of our glasses in turn for a taste and then started filling the various plastic bottles we had brought with us. For those who didn't catch that, this is just a tasting and he filled our glasses. Any bar I've ever worked at would have reprimanded me for filling a paid glass that full, and these "tastes" were free! We "tasted" several wines, including a semi-sweet white, a dry white, and a strong semi-dry red that we were told clocked in at about 15% alcohol. We bought a liter or two of each. He also allowed us to "taste" some small batch pet project wines that were truly exceptional. I should mention that the wine we bought was amazingly inexpensive. It worked out to 7 Lei per liter, or about $2.10 US for wine made from the grapes growing less than fifty feet from where we stood. One of the best things about Romania is that the distance food travels from the ground to the table really isn't much more than the distance from the ground to the table. Together, the three of us bought a bit more than 30 liters. Some to take home, some for gifts, and some for the party.

The view from the doors of the cellar

Imre and our favorite vintner (that is now his name, by the way) talked at great length about the history of the place and many other things, all in Hungarian. Imre kindly translated for us throughout. We learned that while no one knew just how old the original building was, a wine from this place had won gold in a Paris wine competition in 1829. That was before a disease of some sort had ravaged all the grape vines across the entire region. It's only recently that folks like our favorite vintner have been able to plant new vines from a species similar to the one that used to grow here, imported from South America if I recall correctly (this was during or second or third "taste" so my memory is a bit fuzzy). We also learned that this wine would not give us a hangover, to which I promptly called bullshit (this was during or fourth or fifth "taste" so my mind to mouth filters were not working properly). Imre told us that he was electing not to translate that part, he did however share with our favorite vintner that we enjoyed his wine very much and we looked forward to testing his assertion. We gathered up our our hodgepodge collection of make shift wine bottles, each filled to the brim with wine, history and a little bit of that magic, and we headed back to the camp.

Still more to come...