At the agreed glorieta you see her smiling, walking toward you under street lights and together you set out for the bar she had in mind. Taberna del San Bernardo is what they call a Manolete. We used to call them old man bars. They all look the same - usually grey marble tiles, bright, sterile flourescent lights, bars topped with 8" high brass-rimmed glass cases displaying shallow tubs of patatas, chorizo, calamares, tortilla, queso and all other standard Spanish bar food (otherwise lovingly referred yet thoroughly misunderstood abroad as tapas), and, of course, old men. Here they call them manoletes because 3 out of 5 men of that generation are called Manolo. Call it out when you're inside and see for yourself how many heads turn. This particular taberna is not so typical and replaces the lights and tiles for a wall loaded with wine bottles, so you think it's perfect for a little quaffing. Unfortunately, when it comes to glass-pours, you get the standard Manolete response: Rioja or Ribera. Truly remarkable wine regions, but you wouldn't guess that from the typical house versions and one tires of the same two opciónes. Nevertheless, it's time to begin and you opt for the generally preferred Ribera for its slightly lighter, more delicate, and fruitier characteristics. Ribera wouldmake an excellent toast to an affluent celebration of an approved status quo, perhaps at an engagement party. Rioja, with its intense and brooding spirit, would be more fitting to finalize the plans for a long-awaited, violent upheaval. Glasses drained over a shared plate of house-fried quasi potato crisp swimming in garlic olive-oil and on to greener pastures.
Two bars buzzing side-by-side, one long and narrow, clad in earthy desert sunset hues and the other wider, more open, flaunting the range from white to black and sporting visuals on a rack of outdoor TV sets. Your inner American goes for the TVs, pulls up two black leather stools at the bar, and grabs a menu. The right decision. A full page of glass pours and at the top sits Bierzo, a tiny region sitting amid verdant hills just north of Portugal. Even now not quite fully known throughout Iberia, a few years ago one could scarcely find a single bottle abroad. What makes Bierzo so special is the grape. DO Bierzo must contain at least 53 or 54% Mencía, a very local grape that produces an entirely different wine. Leaving behind the textured, pipe-tobacco and woodfire smoke voices of the raspy Rioja and Ribera regions, Bierzo creates something altogether more lively. Far more fruity and floral, its got berries and flowers and spices that make everyone who tries it incline their head, intensify their gaze, and make a sound silimar to OOoo. You may even pick up a bit of fennel. And the glass is 2euros. So you take a moment to discuss and appreciate the contents of your copas and remember that the wine is as much there for you as you are for it and you toast to the cleansing of your frustrations and celebrate the sources of joy. Another glass, this time from Navarra, here a blend of typical international superstars like Cabernet and Garnacha that makes you at once appreciate their allure as well as the individuality of an ancient region like Bierzo that only just recently has realized there is a world beyond its borders, and vice versa.
The bar thins out as you pick from plates of frutos secos (nuts) and olives, pickles and pearl onions, and after learning from the bartender that you preferred el primero because its vino rather than la primera copa since the cup remains constant while its the contents that shift, you leave jocund, arm in arm as you head down the street to sleep a most satisfying sleep.
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**For more on Bierzo and a list of recommended bottles: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/18/dining/18wine.html?scp=3&sq=bierzo&st=cse
1 comment:
Very calming and satisfying. I felt at ease--a little buzz from the virtual wine tour and a nice fullness in the tummy from the potato tapas. Magic. I loved the idea of feet cupping round street stones. Authentic.
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