WINE
Well-kept secret Sebastian Morello reports from a land where most wineries are still owned by monasteries
W
hen I married a Romanian, I did not know much about Romania. As a teenager I had enjoyed reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula, the inspiration for whose villain was Wallachia’s (not Transylvania’s, note) Prince Vlad the Impaler. That was about the extent of my knowledge concerning Romania. Around the same time as I read Stoker’s novel, I joined my school’s Expeditionary Society. Consequently, with Prince Nicholas of Romania – also a member of the Society – I trekked the Sudanese border, climbed to the summit of Mount Kenya, and hiked the coast down to Mombasa, but Nick liked to downplay his royal credentials, so I took little notice. Soon after my wife and I married, I acknowledged the duty to educate myself on the history of Romania. My wife bought me an English translation of A Brief Illustrated History of the Romanians, which is a not-so-brief history of the three principalities by the brilliant historian and diplomat, Neagu Djuvara, a devout Catholic and Knight of Malta. One of the advantages of belonging to an island people is that one’s national history is remarkably linear and easy to learn. Romania’s history, on the other hand, is extremely chaotic, with borders constantly moving, and so many families involved in dynastic squabbles that just learning the names of the competing houses makes one dizzy. Nonetheless, what I discovered in the pages of Djuvara’s book was the story of an amazing people, with a fascinating history reaching back to when records and myths become indistinguishable. Furthermore, I began to recognise the debt of gratitude our civilisation owes to the Romanians. Much of Eastern Europe is not under the Islamic crescent because, for centuries, Romania’s fierce princes fought for Christ, and died for Him too. Prince Constantin Brâncoveanu comes to mind. He formed an alliance with the Habsburgs against the encroaching Ottoman forces. Eventually Brâncoveanu was captured. Having been
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taken to Istanbul with his four sons, they were all tortured for days before execution. He led his sons through an act of contrition before he and they were beheaded at the command of Sultan Ahmed III. Brâncoveanu was the last to be executed, and so was made to watch his sons die, beginning with the eldest. The youngest son, Matei, was 12 years old. Prince Matei was so frightened at seeing the decapitation of his three brothers that he began to cry and beg for his father’s permission to renounce Christ and apostatise to Islam. Brâncoveanu replied, ‘My boy, of our kind, none have lost their faith; it is better to die a thousand times than to leave your ancient faith just to live a few more years on earth.’ The young prince regained his courage and offered his head. The four martyred sons were then joined by their father. Brâncoveanu’s name lives on with the architectural style he founded, the Brâncovenesc style, that remains one of the Balkans’ many aesthetic wonders. It was all very well learning about Romanian history and culture from conversations with my wife, from books, Wikipedia, and eventually a tour of Wallachia and Transylvania, but alongside such a cultural education, I needed something to drink. In turn, I discovered the largely hidden realm of Romanian wine – a well-kept secret. The Russians know about it, but we of the West remain in the dark.
Romanian wines are appreciated more by those with a liking for heavy New Worlds, like South African clarety blends or Argentine Malbecs. Romanian reds are heavy and packed with complex flavours, and have an almost magical way of drawing one into a pensive, contemplative state. When I discovered Romanian wines, I could not quite believe it. They are so tasty, and in Romania you get high quality at a low price. Most wineries are still owned by monasteries, and have grown up under the chanting of monks and the rattle of the semantron. I made a few mistakes during my journey of discovery through the world of Romanian wines. I once bought a bottle of red solely because it had a splendid picture of Michael the Brave on the label. Having uncorked the wine with a friend, we soon accepted that the grand voivode’s portrait was the only fine thing about it. Generally speaking, however, Romanian wines are excellent. Wine-making is in the culture. Most households make their own, which tends to be a bit rough, but has an earthy charm that deserves respect. On my mother-in-law’s last visit to the UK, she brought me a bottle of Alira Grand Vin, made with the uniquely Romanian Fetească Neagră grapes. This was a really special wine. If you ever have the opportunity to enjoy a bottle, do not pass it up. The tasting notes attached to the wine are as follows: ‘Dominated by strong white truffle, the wine gradually opens up to black fruits, fresh and smoked plums, eucalyptus and espresso foam; dark chocolate flavour is combined with bitter cherries, soon revealing notes of blood oranges of Sicily and Cayenne pepper in a long and fruity finish.’ This description certainly reveals how ridiculous wine-speak can be. My own advice for enjoying this wine: steak. Yes, to really enjoy this wine, you require a very large T-bone steak, rare (blue, even), seasoned with nothing but salt and pepper, and some green vegetable on the side if you really must. Having filled your cheeks with red meat, just let the wine speak for itself.
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