By David Rosengarten
I came to the Minho today–the lush, green, northern corner of Portugal–with trepidation. Its famous wine, Vinho Verde, has been one of my faves for decades: the white version is crisp, dry, crackling, low in alcohol, high in acid, ready to fight off rich shellfish or pork like nobody’s business.
My only Vinho Verde problems in the past had been on the American side of the equation: lots of Vinho Verdes in the U.S., over the years, have been either too sweet, or not fresh enough. But, I always carried the conviction that coming home to Portugal would provide the real stuff–and that a smart shopper in the U.S. can usually find it, as well.
Is this all about to change?
The fear began during my prep for this trip. I discovered that, as with most wines in the world, alcohol is on the rise in Vinho Verde. I don’t like that elevation anywhere, but it’s a special crisis for this wine, which has always derived part of its definition from low alcohol in the 8% to 9% range. Today, I discovered before arrival, Vinho Verde alcohol average is creeping up to 10, 11, even 12%. That’s still low, by today’s global standards…..but when does the wine stop being Vinho Verde as I understand and love it?
So here I am. And the first thing I notice is rows and rows of vines that look pretty much like vines anywhere–and not like the high, arching pergolas that I remember so well from my last visit 20 years ago, twelve feet or so above the ground.
“Where are the pergolas?” I ask. “Oh, that’s old Vinho Verde,” I’m told. “Everyone is re -planting in the more normal way.”
And I probe, and I discover that the pergolas shaded the grapes, kept their acids high, their sugars low, producing lightweight, evanescent wines.
“The wine is much better today,” I’m told–a statement I’ve heard around the world, which usually translates as “we’re making richer, thicker wines because that’s what the new wine drinker demands.”
Uh-oh, amigo. Is this the end of Vinho Verde as I know it?
I went to lunch with representatives of Aveleda, one of the biggest players in the Vinho Verde game. We dined at a beautiful Relais & Chateaux hotel/restaurant, Casa da Calçada, in Amarante, on the eastern edge of the Vinho Verde zone. We were served creative food, with purportedly local/traditional touches, which made me worry that this whole region is going global: octopus terrine with oyster-flavored yogurt; a cappucino of blood sausage with lobster; salt cod with calve’s head terrine and smoked ham powder. But my focus was on the Vinho Verde. I knew we were drinking an upscale one–the Follies, from Aveleda, with specified grape varieties on the label (usually an indication that the wine will be more “serious.”) And I knew it was 11% alcohol, higher than the old average.
Would it hit my precious Vinho Verde spot?
Phew. I’m relieved to say that if all new Vinho Verdes can be like this, I have no worries whatsoever. It was stony. It was crisp. It was dry. It was lightweight. It was gorgeous with appropriate foods, and I daresay could even stand in as an oyster wine. Yes, it had a little more “character” than traditional Vinho Verde–a mineral-y character–but in my judgment this did not de-Vinho-Verde-ize it.
After lunch, the commercial director of Aveleda took me to one of his favorite spots in Amarante, a ham bar with the improbable name Adega Kilowatt. But the wonderful atmosphere was more candelight than light bulbs. This was Portugal! And the hams! And…..the Vinho Verde! Served out of rustic jugs, it was everything I want Vinho Verde to be: insanely fresh, shockingly acidic, as refreshing with food as wine could ever be.
So now I know two important things:
1) Despite modernization of the Vinho Verde industry, there is hope that the modern wines being made for export can still satisfy
2) If you want to be sure to taste the historic Vinho Verde… the Minho is waiting for you, at little bars and taverns, with wide open arms in old-fashioned shirts.
**For more posts about wine, check out the Dean & DeLuca wine blog.
