"We're just talkin' about the future, forget about the past…"

“In Spain, we often joke that there are 2 plights we can thank Americans for,” he said when asked about changing wine styles in Spain, “phylloxera and Robert Parker—and the second one is more dangerous.” The classroom broke out into a loud chuckle, because when you’re spending 3 intensive days trying to remember things like the gazillion different names they have for the tempranillo grape, believe me, a little interjected sense of humor can go a long way. By the time I got to lunch on the third day, I was pretty sure everything within a 40-foot radius of me smelled like sherry, including the exhaust fumes being spat from New York City’s buses. But who the hell was I to complain? There are worse things in this world than an 8-Cava tasting for breakfast, 8 Catalonian wines as a pre-lunch aperitif and 7 Riojas for an afternoon snack. Alright, technically I could complain about the 4 clunkers they poured from La Mancha, but nobody’s perfect.

Thanks to the generosity of the peeps at Catavino, I got the opportunity to take a 3-day certification course in Spanish wine and Sherry in New York City, taught by the Wine Academy of Spain—on the house. Considering it was a seminar I was eager to take but couldn’t afford, I nearly danced a jig when they offered me a blogger scholarship to attend it. I’m not sure how I can ever repay that gesture, but my first-born is up for grabs if that will square us in any way.

Given our less-than-stellar economy, Americans are looking to Spain more than ever for great wine values, and so this wine seminar served as a sort of traveling ministry, educating its future disciples. Over the course of those 3 days, I sniffed, sipped and spit nearly 70 wines, and despite the fact that when I got home all I wanted was a cold beer, I realized that the more I know, the more I understand how little I know. And because I’m not one to keep my thoughts to myself, plan on a few cool future posts about Spanish wines—yes, Virginia, there is more to Spain than Rioja, Ribera, Rias Baixas and Priorat. And thank God there’s more to Cava than Freixenet.

I had no idea, for instance, that the region of Galicia has inheritance laws just like Burgundy. When the patriarch of a vineyard dies, the property must be equally divided amongst all his children instead of going to the eldest, which makes for very tiny patches of independently owned vineyards as the years pass. I also didn’t know that you’ll hardly find a Spaniard drinking Sherry outside of Andalucia (the region where it’s made), or that a 4-pointed star on a Cava cork means it was made in the traditional Champenoise method. And despite the fact that the region of Castilla/La Mancha is the largest area under vine, finding a wine I enjoy from there has proven more than difficult.

Photo by Ryan Opaz

There was, however, one thing that it actually pained me to learn. It turns out that my absolute favorite Rioja winery—R. Lopez de Heredia—is scoffed at by many Spaniard wine drinkers. Apparently, the winery’s “old world” mojo doesn’t cut it with the masses, who want something less funky and earthy, and something more fruity and floral. They poo-poo Lopez’ use of old barrels (including some huge ones that have been around almost 100 years) and their “no chemicals, no pesticides, no chaptalization, no machines, hand-racking, aged-for-at-least-sixty-months-in-cask” policies. They also don’t much like the fact that the wines then spend several years in a bottle under a thick veil of mold and cobwebs either, despite the fact that keeping the bottles amongst the mold seems to prevent insect damage to the corks and preserve humidity. I was seriously bummed to hear that Lopez has become the butt of many a joke, exchanged over tapas or a fino, but then I guess that leaves more for me, so grab your fruit-forward wines, my Iberian compadres, and leave me the Lopez.

Tagged as: spanish wine, wine academy of spain