Two summers ago my daughter called excitedly from Brooklyn to tell me about a wonderful white wine her Portuguese friend had recently introduced her to called Vinho Verde. Hers was our first introduction to a common wine in Portugal that is known in the U.S. as a bright, dry white wine, often with a slight but fading effervescence, perfect for summer weather drinking. The wine is more complicated than that.
In Portugal, we had traveled north to Viana do Castello to meet new friends. It was an unseasonably rainy afternoon. After a generous home cooked lunch of traditional Portuguese fare including bacalau, three kinds of sausages, and two regional sheep cheeses from the Alentejo, our hosts drove us farther north toward the Minho River, northernmost boundary between Portugal and Spain. Here in the Minho, a cooler, moister region, grow vineyards from which many of Portugal’s diverse Vinho Verde wines are produced.
We arrived in a steady drizzle at the Palácio da Brejoeira, a small but well-known winery and part of an 18th century estate. We would tour the palace, a bit of the grounds, and the now-retired original cellars with their stone troughs for treading the grapes, a practice still used by small producers. However, the vineyard tour was cancelled. We bought a of bottle of Vinho Verde for the night’s dinner, and our host later brought out another bottle at the table for comparison. Because our friends speak limited English and we speak no Portuguese, I only experience the subtle characteristics of Vinho Verde. I cannot find out what exactly makes it distinct from Vinho Branco, or white wine.
It was not until we returned to Lisboa that I discovered just what separates Vinho Verde from the Vinho Brancos of Portugal. Scott Laughlin, poet and associate director of the Disquiet program, had recommended we visit a wine bar he had come to know during his stay, Garrafeira Alfeia:
Situated in Lisbon's hip Bairro Alto district, Garrafeira Alfeia's proprietor, Pedro, proved to be extremely knowledgeable about the wines of his country and had also traveled extensively in California, Italy, and Spain’s wine regions. He set up an amazing flight of six red wines for us that in his mind best represented Portugal’s major wine regions. He explained that in the past 20 years, Portuguese winemaking has grown more and more sophisticated and it truly is an industry experiencing a dynamic revival after many years of a more limited, traditional approach. Apparently, even many Portuguese people don’t grasp the nuances of these changes.
In Portugal, Vinho Verde or “green wine,” can be made from a variety of white wine grapes such as Albarhino. What separates vinho verde from white varietals is the process used to create it(remember port?). The grapes are harvested young, hence “green,” and thereby with a lower sugar content. They are given a brief fermentation, then bottled, producing a dry wine with comparatively lower alcohol content, often a slight fizz, and perhaps a green cast to its pale whiteness. Most importantly, the appellation of Vinho Verde is strictly controlled. If the wine’s alcohol content exceeds 11.5%, it can no longer be bottled as Vinho Verde, but Vinho Branco, a white wine.
Our visit with Pedro at Alfeia was yesterday afternoon. Legs of ham hung above his case of olives and cheeses. We sat and talked together for close to two hours, sipping the wine, taking notes, making a friend. Customers came in and out for a glass or two. After my several questions, Pedro poured a sampling of Vinho Verde, first the European gold medal winner Loureiro from Quinta de Gomariz, followed by a cheaper, more touristic bottle. The difference was memorable.
This afternoon I am typing from notes and memory on the plane, homeward bound after nearly a month in Portugal. It has been a remarkable, wonderful time and I am fairly drunk with all I’ve taken in: literature, culture, history, landscapes, people, and the many unique wines and foods I’ve had the opportunity to enjoy.
A poster of Fernando Pessoa hangs on a back wall at Alfeia with the Pessoa inscription, “Em flagrante delitro,” or as translated by a busboy there, what he sees, he drinks. This is what I leave with you who have read along these past weeks from whatever armchair you sit in. It may not be in Portugal at the moment(but go if you can), but what you do see, drink. Fill yourself up with all the poetry life offers. It’s been unforgettable. It’s been a blast.
Adeus!
