For many years I have made my beer money by writing and translating for one of China's top wine trade publications. The editor-in-chief is an old friend. This is one such article of mine which appeared bi-lingually in their flagship magazine, several years ago. I have spared you the Chinese version.
What makes a wine memorable? What makes a wine stick in your memory in a way that you can recall every nuance of its bouquet, colour and taste even decades after you have drunk it?
The depth and quality of an expensive fine wine? Perhaps. Or maybe a perfect match with a perfect dish in a perfect meal in a perfect restaurant? Yes, it could be that, too. Or sometimes, it is the company or social circumstances that you find yourself drinking in that remains with you. I suppose one should remember the Champagne at one’s wedding, but in fact, few people do. I can’t even remember what we drank. Although, I’m sure it wasn’t tea.
Thinking about this recently, I racked my brains trying to think of examples of wines which remain with me, not necessarily for their great quality. It doesn’t have to be a wine which has had the critics in ecstasies, although those, too, can be memorable, of course.
But, perhaps surprisingly, I decided that the wine I remember most vividly is a simple cheap wine which I drank from a plastic cup n the middle of a rather smelly fishing port dock area. I was sitting on an abandoned and broken chair which threatened to collapse at any minute. The food, eaten from a paper plate, certainly didn’t match the wine even remotely and the whiff of rotten fish and gasoline hardly contributed to the experience. But it remains one of my happiest wine drinking memories.
About 25 years ago, I went on a family holiday to a tiny resort village on the French Mediterranean, near to Perpignan on the border with Spain. This is Languedoc-Roussillon territory, home to Vin de Pays d'Oc and the world’s largest wine producing area, responsible for more than one third of all France’s wine. No one will pretend that the wine is in the top grades, but it produces some perfectly acceptable everyday drinking wines.
So armed with my high factor sunscreen, I settled down to a lazy couple of weeks by the Mediterranean. Parts of my body which hadn’t seen sunlight for years (i.e. most parts) were exposed to the elements and I spent the first few days doing nothing very much at all. But all that lying around doing nothing quickly became boring, so we took to strolling into the nearby village, visiting the market and generally being tourists. We stocked up on beautiful breads, local cheeses and grabbed flagons of what appeared to be the very local vin ordinaire wines. The locals would look at the cheeses we had selected and make their wine recommendations, which we were happy to go along with. They were dirt cheap, but a fine accompaniment to our simple lunch. The afternoons were happily spent sleeping off their effects.
We got in a bit of cultural tourism by fitting in a couple of day trips into the mountains and to the beautiful city of Perpignan where we temporarily abandoned France and, bizarrely, had a lovely meal in an Indian restaurant which had been recently opened by someone from London! I’d be astonished if it were still there.
We visited the ancient historic walled city of Carcassonne, where we had a more sensible traditional meal of the local specialty, cassoulet, a slow cooked dish of preserved goose, local sausages and beans. This was again washed down with a local wine, but sadly I can’t tell you what it was. I doubt it had a name, as such. It was served from a jar and everyone in the restaurant had the same wine. It was the kind of place which doesn’t do a menu. There is one dish and one wine. And both were delicious.
Towards the end of the first week, while wandering near our holiday apartment, we turned left instead of right and found ourselves in a less picturesque area. This was clearly where the locals really worked when not looking out for the tourists. There were car repair places, decorating material shops, carpenters, metalworkers, stone masons, builders etc.
And coming from the centre of it was the most wonderful smell. Garlic, wine and herbs and the unmistakeable smell of fresh seafood. It was a little early for lunch and far too late for breakfast, but we forced ourselves into this tiny shack and asked for the menu. When we did, the woman serving us pointed to the wall where it said
a) 20 Francs Déjeuner;
b) 25 Francs Déjeuner;
c) 30 Francs Déjeuner.
We were greedy people, so we went for the 30 Francs lunch for two. (The kids were playing on the beach.)
Huge shivering plates of seafood arrived. Lobster, crabs, mussels, oysters, clams, prawns and much more. Again, this was served with anonymous local wine which matched the food perfectly. We went back every day for the rest of our holiday.
On the last week, we discovered from the woman in the restaurant shack her restaurant would be closed that Friday for Feast of the Assumption, the Catholic Christian festival and that this was to be celebrated in the traditional manner. Further questioning revealed that this consisted of the local fishermen supplying the entire village’s lunch. We were assured that we would be very welcome and she kindly pointed out the location. The empty loading yard on the dock beside the main fish market.
So, on the Friday, we rolled up at noon to find the place packed. The fishermen and their families had set up long barbecue grills along one side of the square where they were grilling sardines so fresh they had realised they were dead yet. There were tables piled high with crusty French baguettes, then more tables piled with fresh peaches. Then, barrels and barrels of wine. The locals were picking up paper plates, loading them with smoking hot sardines, grabbing some bread, a plastic cup of wine and finding anywhere they could to sit and enjoy this simplest of lunches. Then they would go back for more.
And I did too. The wine was a red Pays d'Oc and probably not the best match for grilled sardines or for peaches. But I sat on my broken chair, looking out over the Mediterranean lying behind the boat sheds, feeling exquisitely happy and very, very full, but ready for just one more cupful.
What's your most memorable wine experience?
