By Francis Gimblett
A Taste of the Future
after such
upheaval, was
yet producing
any of the good
stuff.
I
shuffled to one side, the aim
of the policeman’s holstered
pistol a little too close to my
foot for comfort. He pushed
his mirrored sunglasses back
up the bridge of his nose. I
caught my reflection. Four
days trekking in Montenegro’s
Crmnica Mountains had me
looking as far from an
Albanian male, clean shaven
and close shorn, as Grizzly
Adams after a spell in a
tumble dryer.
“So, what brings you to Albania?”
the policeman said.
“I’m looking for wines to import
into the UK,” I said, stretching
the truth to a point that would
make a politician blush. The few
cases we’d be using at tastings
were unlikely to create a spike in
the country’s GDP.
“Ha!” He lowered the charge
sheet he’d been holding and
barked something in Albanian to
his colleague which, going by the
other’s amused reaction, I
understood to mean ‘Check the
car for drugs!’. Well, it was more
the subsequent pulling apart of
our vehicle and the peremptory
frisking of my companion that led
me to that conclusion; the
amusement was probably at the
audacity of my supposed cover.
The border crossing from
Montenegro had been quick, but,
once this side, we knew we were
in a country with a different past.
Whilst Albania has, in many ways,
emerged well from forty-five years
of communist dictatorship and
state-imposed seclusion, the
roadside juxtaposed gleaming
petrol forecourts with low-level
subsistence farming. It seemed
that the haves and the have-nots
were yet to be joined by the
have-about-enoughs. I was there
to find out if the wine industry,
always lagging behind the curve
16
THE LONDON & UK DATEBOOK
When mapping
our journey, I
noted that the
vineyard areas
were at the
same latitude
as southern
Italy and had
similar climatic
and topographic features. Also,
Albania’s winemaking history pre-
dates that of its Adriatic
neighbour by some 3000 years
and wine has been made at
family level throughout. However,
under communism, wine quality
had become a secondary factor
and exports dwindled. In my
planning I could find no reference
to Albanian wine imports to the
UK for years and whilst to most
this would indicate sound
reasoning on the part of our
importers, I wanted to know
whether things here were
changing.
The policeman’s colleague, our
luggage strewn about his feet,
raised his hands and shook his
head. The policeman turned to
me.
“Is what you say true? You want
to buy Albanian wines?”
I nodded and took out my
numbered map and appointment
details. “Yes, I’ve heard they are
delicious.” That was another fib.
He clapped a hand on my
shoulder and took off his glasses.
“My goodness, you are a mad
Englishman! In that case, I won’t
charge you for driving your car too
fast!” He tore up the charge
sheet and handed it to me, a
souvenir. “I won’t even charge
you next time, my crazy friend.”
As we drove away, I hoped he
wasn’t too well acquainted with
those we’d planned to visit, and
that we’d find something worth
coming for.
On arriving at our first meeting, at
Kantina Arbëri, in the mountains
50km north of Tirana, I resigned
myself to the policeman’s
prediction. The winery façade,
grey and classically Soviet
influenced, when previously
encountered had only led to one
thing: wine tasting as if it were
made by a chimp with a
blindfold. However, once past the
gatehouse, a world opened up
that would have made CS Lewis
consider a new wardrobe: flowing
architecture in polished local
stone and varnished oak, housed
stainless steel tanks and shiny
new equipment that hadn’t yet
seen their second birthdays.
Rigers Kacorri, owner and
winemaker, led us on a visit that
gave hope that our expectations
might be exceeded. But we were
shy of the truth. The expectation
that expectations might be
exceeded was itself exceeded.
The highlight of the range was his
Kallmet (Albania’s primary
indigenous red grape) Rezervë
2012, bristling with bright cherry,
jam and spice aromas on the
nose, with a palate feel that
straddled old and new world: ripe
and warm, but with intriguing
earth and herb notes to season
the rich flavour of plum. His best
white, Shesh I Bardhë (northern
Albania’s top white wine grape)
was also exceptional, like an
alcoholic banana, pineapple and
lime smoothie, only much more
sophisticated.
We found more of the same at
our other visits: knowledgeable
vineyard management, newly
installed equipment and wines
being made to a level that could
grace any conscientious
sommelier’s wine list. That’s not
to say that these wines will be
found on our mass-market retail
shelves anytime soon because,
as yet, there are only a handful of
Albania’s
winemaking history
pre-dates that of its
Adriatic neighb