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In the falling light of a hot July day in Tuscany, my travelling companion and I sat down on the patio of a small town trattoria for dinner. Cypress trees framed the scene, and lyrical voices of Italian customers were the soundtrack. It was the perfect end to a lovely day. We ordered a modest Chianti— a Sangiovese-based wine from the hills of Colli Senesi, by a producer I had never heard of.
I was enjoying myself. No phone was ringing to remind me of a deadline. No appointments were on the schedule— in fact, there was no schedule. A simple pizza came to the table, a freshly made crust topped with bufala mozzarella and a few slices of grilled vegetables. It was drizzled with extra virgin olive oil
Sylvia Jansen, Sommelier( ISG, CMS), CSW
and topped with fragrant oregano. The wine’ s fruit and spice aromas floated above this simple meal in a little dance.
To ensure we would remember that dinner, we pulled out our cameras. Sure, I could see the restaurant staff staring at us while we took close-ups of food, the wine label, and water bottle. It was probably routine for them to see tourists taking pictures while dining in beautiful Tuscany. But for tourists to take pictures of wine and food, well, that was probably just a bit too weird. I imagined them in the kitchen, laughing that out on the patio people were doing a photo shoot of Franco’ s little brother’ s pizza. Well, I was willing to be their comic relief. I needed to make it real by connecting those lush flavours and fragrances with a place and time.
The trouble with travelling is that some souvenirs come back home more easily than others. Things are easy to bring. But that vacation taste— a wonderful dinner, a brilliant wine pairing, aromas— these are infuriatingly impossible. Sometimes we are tempted to find that exact same wine at home to recapture the experience. But a great wine memory, like any great memory, is evasive. Even if the same wine comes home, it’ s not the same. The circumstances have changed. The light is different. Deadlines loom. The phone rings. The memory of that fabulous taste blurs into oblivion. So when I travel, I let myself look ridiculous by photographing wine labels. It helps.
More important, though, are details that help me remember the personality of the wine itself: the wine’ s origin, quality, price, aromas, and the food match that made it beautiful. All of these will help me talk about taste without needing to pull the cork of the exact same wine— or going back to that same trattoria( where they might still be talking about me!).
With wine, talking taste is remembering whether it was full-bodied and robust, or light and airy; whether it was full-on fruity, or an aromatic mix of spice, herbs, and wood. Those bits of memory are infinitely more helpful in re-creating the taste than the frustrating search for a wine not available in our market.
That little trattoria in Tuscany helped me recall the simple pleasure of an honest, modest Chianti paired with a meal of a few ingredients, enjoyed in a casual atmosphere with good friends. It really doesn’ t matter that I do not have that exact wine. I can invite a few friends over, open another nice Chianti, and stand in the kitchen nibbling on a simple pizza we made ourselves from a few good ingredients. Then we can talk taste, and take pictures of the food.
So here’ s to you, with good taste memories. � www. banvilleandjones. com 59